On automatic transmissions and the key fairy

So while on Wednesday I was blogging about how I thought I was starting to assimilate beyond the point of no return, today I was reminded once again how maybe it's not that bad. And how, if nothing else fails, I always manage to at least crack myself up.

As you may know, most American drive cars with automatic transmission. True, not all Americans do, but the vast majority haven't shifted a stick in years, and some of them aren't even sure what to do with that third pedal. Now although I don't mind driving an automatic, I really do prefer speeding around in a stick shift. There is just something incredibly cool about playing with the gears in your car, racing away at stoplights, and freaking out the people behind you by slowing down from 50mph to 35mph without hitting your brakes once. So when we sold my Volkswagen (a standard, mind you) right before we left Germany, I reminded my husband that I wanted nothing other than a stick shift when we got to Georgia. And that is exactly what I got. The fact that they had to drive the car in from Savannah and I thus had to wait a whole day for my car did not matter to me. In the same vein, having been asked from time to time by our local quickie lube to drive my own car into the bay, as the one guy who knows how to drive a stick is out to lunch, does nothing to deter me.

Now, every once in a while, I will drive in husband-dear's truck, which is an automatic. For an absent-minded person such as myself, it usually takes about one attempt to hit a non-existing clutch for me to figure out that, oh yeah, this is the car where you get to be lazy. Today, however, I believe I took my absent-mindedness to a whole new level. Today, you see, I had to take the dogs to the vet.

When we take our dogs to the vet, we take husband-dear's truck. And that's not because the dogs have already violently expelled various forms of bodily content in the backseat at least twice, and also not because the truck has black upholstery, while mine is beige (which, by the way, was not a smart choice), no, it's because the truck has a center console that flips up, thus keeping the puppies from climbing into the front seat.

So this morning, I climbed into husband-dear's truck, and drove through the rain to our vet. When I parked on top of the very muddy hill, and turned off the engine, I realized I could not get the keys out of the ignition. I jiggled, I twisted them, I turned the steering wheel, nothing. Well hot dang. As I was about to lose my temper, I figured I would, for a change, stay calm. So I decied I would a) not yell at my keys, since they would most probably be unaffected anyway, b) leave the car unlocked as I went into the vet), c) call husband-dear once I got out, and d) if he couldn't fix it over the phone, I would simply stop by his office on base on my way to the base pool. I was very proud of myself for approaching this seemingly terrible disaster in such a level-headed manner.

So I went into the vet's, figuring that anyone who was willing to brave the torrential rains, the slippery hill, and the possibility of being attacked by anyone of the dogs coming in and out of the office, to break into our truck, could have whatever was in it(I believe some gloves, an ice scraper, and a first aid kit). When I came back out, the key-fairy had not magically fixed my problem, so I called husband-dear and informed him of my predicament.
"Uhm, honey?" He said in a tone of voice I imagine him using with the infirm, "Is the car in Park?"
Me: "Uhm..no.." I stare at my keys, and then I realize what I'm sure all of you automatic transmission drivers have realized all along: You have to put the car in park before you can take your keys out. I think I may have literally smacked myself on the forehead.
After explaining to husband-dear that I had apparently temporarily lost my mind, or at least forgotten all about that, he asked, "So did you at least use the emergency brake?"
Oops. Yes, really, oops. Because, you know, without that brake on, and your car still in "drive" it could have moved somewhere. Say down that slippery hill I had just gunned up to get to the office.

But the car hadn't moved, I had gotten my keys back, and realized that perhaps I'm not as Americanized as I think. Yay for happy endings!