The Worst Day of My Life

I've always known that my dad loved me, but I guess that hadn't become truly real to me until a day I was stranded in the middle of a parking lot.

I only had three real possessions. The oldest of the three possessions was a Gibson guitar. When most people think of a Gibson guitar, at least people who know guitars, they think of top of the line, up there with the best. Mine however managed to be the worst. Most of the strings would un-tune after a few minutes, somehow the frets were rusty, and body would have dings and nicks from where my brother would knock it off the stand or drop it out of the case. One time, while it was in its case, it was run over by a mini-van. Miraculously it was still intact. Thank the Lord I had sprung for the expensive case.

My second possession was my laptop. Back then it was the bomb. It seemed to weigh about 30 pounds. I carried it all around campus. I told my dad it was for taking notes in class, but really I just played DOOM on my breaks. I even had a cordless mouse that let me navigate the game much easier.

My last possession was my baby blue Chevy S-10 pick-up truck. I had just dropped a large chunk of my college savings fund to help pay for this bad-boy. It was a five-speed stick shift, 4-cylinder, and no A/C. This truck developed my addiction for driving. Most people I know hates to drive, because of nasty traffic, the seemingly wasted time, or just having to sit still for a prolonged period of time. I, on the other hand, lived in the middle of nowhere, so driving became natural. Just getting to Wal-Mart or the gas station took about half an hour, and getting to Arapahoe Community College had a total of two hours round trip.

These long trips gave me my opportunity to rest. I obviously wouldn't sleep, but my mind could relax. I listened to music, observed people, and let my mind wander. It was my haven. One day, my haven was all but destroyed.

My classes were over for the day, and I was new in town, so I had no real friends to talk to. That didn't bother me much, but I still seemed to brighten when I saw my truck. I got to school early for a 7:30 A.M. class, so I got one of the better parking spots. As I approached the driver's side door, I reached into my pocket to pull out my black and yellow Pacific Sunwear lanyard, but left pocket was empty. The left pocket is where I always put my keys, but I guessed maybe I could have put them in my right. They weren't there either.

I remembered retracing my steps in my mind, but shortly finding out the truth when I saw the keys dangling from the ignition. I had locked myself out of my car. Crap. I let my head drop, and window met my forehead sooner than I anticipated, so the impact hurt a little more than I was willing to admit. Of course, I had given my spare key to my father, but he was in town. Which means he would have to drive all the way home, in the boonies, then drive another hour back to the ACC parking lot. Again, he would do just about anything for me, but this wasn't the first time I'd locked my keys in the car. Actually, it wasn't the first time that week.

I had locked my keys in the car already twice that month, and once earlier that week. Both times my dad had bailed me out with the spare key. I could tell that he was getting a little perturbed at the driving and wasted gas that went into my rescues, so I regretting having to call him a third time to ruin the third day this month just for me and my forgetfulness.

That's when a campus security guy drove by slowly. He was patrolling the lot. He briefly waved, but then moved along slowly to the other lots on campus. It was only after he left that I realized the help he could have been to my current situation. Luckily, my only luck of the day, I had the campus number in my phone, so I called and after about half an hour, a security officer came by with the proper tools to jimmy open my lock.

I was happy that I didn't have to bug my dad, but it was clear that this fellow had never done anything like this before. He pulled, pushed and even suggested that I break out a back window. The fellow was of course joking, but my expressionless gaze told him immediately that I wasn't in the mood. Finally he positioned his flat, metal hook in just the right place to pull the lock over into the right spot. Relief must have shown on my face because he brightened up instantly as well.

With that I shook his hand and walked around to the other side of the vehicle to get my backpack out of the shade. I didn't want my spiffy new laptop computer sitting out in the Colorado sun. When I did though I encountered my second speed bump. My front passenger tire was completely flat. My relief from opening the door was carrying over into my next problem, so I wasn't as upset as you'd imagine. I'd changed plenty of flat tires, so it wasn't going to be a problem.

Now is the point in my story where things really start to avalanche. I bend down to look under my truck to retrieve my spare tire when I noticed a bike lock securely fastening the spare tire in place. At first I was confused. I thought I missed a step and I needed a special key or something to unlock the tire, but after a moment of thought I came to the conclusion that I was yet again stuck. My relief had no successfully worn off and was being replaced with a mild rage.

I called my campus police friend back and told him about my new problem. He just chuckled. It was the kind of chuckle you hear from someone who isn't actually amused. A disgusted chuckle would describe it better. He was as tired of my as I was of him. Reluctantly he agreed to bring bolt cutters and rescue me for the second time. I do believe thought that he took it upon himself to take his time though. It was well over forty-five minutes before he pulled up behind my parking spot.

He quickly "unlocked" my tire, and forgoing the handshake, packed up and drove off. From there I pulled my tire iron out of my truck and used it to unwind the crank that held the tire in place. My mind wandered to all the stress and time I had wasted just trying to get off campus. It was also particularly hot, and I was sure that I was beginning to redden and burn on my arms and neck. I snapped out of autopilot when my tire iron didn't quite fit onto the lug nuts of my flat tire. I was confused. Why would a tire iron not fit the lug nuts? Whatever the absurd reason was, my rage had now reached a new level. Not only were my keys locked in the car, but the tire was flat, the spare was locked up, and now my lug nuts were the wrong size.

In hind site, I'm convinced that this was the point in my life where I developed a very real problem with anger.

Anyway, I was not about to call the security guy back to my car, otherwise I'm sure he would have loved to try out the dusty taser strapped to his hip. Instead I absentmindedly reached for my new ratchet set that I had stowed back there for no real purpose. If I had thought it through a bit, I might have skipped it, but I was in no mood to think. I just matched the right sized socket to the lug nut, attached the ratchet, and began to tug. I had no leverage with the six-inch handle. In my frustration I resorted to standing on the lever and slamming my full weight down in an attempt to loosen the nut. After a few mini-jumps, it finally gave! I was thrilled! I looked down, and instead of a loosened nut, I saw a bend ratchet. I had actually bent a steel handle to about 130 degrees! Had I been a violent person, I might have given a good punch into my window. I restrained myself though.

I was out of ideas. I rested my back against the truck and slowly slid until I was sitting on the asphalt with my knees curled up tightly against my chest. Normally I am a patient guy, so I wasn't worried about the hours that I could have been spending on homework or watching Harry Potter. I was worried though about not getting to my youth group later that evening. I was the leader of the small Jr. High youth group at the time, and I was supposed to be there to lead a Bible study. I looked down to my watch and found that it was already almost five. There was only an hour, and I still needed my tired changed, to drive all the way home to pick up my stuff, I needed to pick up some students, and get all the way back into town. Essentially, I was screwed.

My day had hit rock bottom. I was stranded and too ashamed to call anyone for help, not that I had anyone really to call except for my dad. That's when it finally dawned on me that I would have to call my dad to have him bail me out. I had accepted the fact that he was going to be upset. I was too old to be yelled at, but I knew when he was disappointed or frustrated with me.

It took me a few moments to get up the courage to call him, but I knew it was my only option. He picked up immediately.

"This is Dave."

"Hey, Dad."

"What's up Jon?"

I hesitated, "Umm..." I stopped again. "So, I need your help."

"Yeah?" I could tell that silently he was really thinking, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME! YOU LOCKED YOUR KEYS IN YOUR TRUCK AGAIN!" So I just hurried on to the part where he would hopefully feel sorry for me. I spilled out my entire story in probably about forty-five seconds. I exhaled deeply while my dad paused, I'm assuming to soak it all in and decide what to do. Before I knew it, he burst out laughing.

"Sorry"

"What are you sorry for?" He seemed appalled that I would be ashamed to call him for help. I guess I knew deep down that he would always help me out in a bind, and he seemed to understand that this was all out of my control. He could also probably sense how frustrated I already was. He chuckled again, "Are you at school?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be right there." He hung up with another good-hearted laugh. At least I knew he wasn't upset. My rescuer was at the church, so it didn't take long for him to make the trek out to my Arapahoe Community College. Once he did we hopped into his forest green Saturn heading for Target. Our first item of business was to obtain the proper tire iron.

I decided to splurge on the iron that had four different size options. I was convinced that one of them would fit, and after the day I had I wasn't taking any chances.

I remember thinking how I should have just called my dad right from the beginning instead of wasting three hours of my life in the parking lot of Arapahoe Community College. I should have just trusted that even if he was mad, he would still love me enough to stop what he was doing to come get me. He always had in the past, so why should it have stopped then?