Childlock

I always have problems with my car.  Always.  It's not my car's fault, I love my little Toyota, it's my own pure stupidity or other people's stupidity.  Let's say it's others.

With that being said, my car is constantly at the Toyota dealership.  Whether it's because someone has hit me (Yes, I'm talking to YOU teenager at McDonalds who put me out of my car for about a month), I hit something (something, as in, oh the Sonic machine thingys).  Something as in a railroad thingy (it came out of nowhere!).  Something as in my roommates car (ok, I was in a hurry), Something as in my neighbor's car (oops, they still don't know).  Something as in 2... count em... TWO trees, in the same sitting!  Something as in that time I tried to ramp the railroad tracks (Never a good idea) Oh... and there was  almost that one someone once... luckily they had quick reflexes!

I admit.  I shouldn't be driving.  Blame it on small town Arkansas for giving me a license when I turned 16 even though I pulled into the wrong lane, hit my head on the window, and could barely park.

But I do, have a license, which means lots of visits to the repair men.  They love me by now, and even give me rides around town wherever I need to go.  They always have the best rental cars waiting for me.... Yes, I'm looking at you typical rental car that is always silver, a small un-safe bubble of a car, without tinted windows.  No, I will not drive you.  Yes, I'm being picky, I have my rights you know.

So the point of my story....

My Mom was in town last weekend, and I say "MOM!  (yes with that much enthusiasm).  I HAVE to take my car into the dealership.  My window WILL NOT roll down.  Ugh."

Mom simply looks at me and says... "well, is the childlock on?"

Thank you Mom for saving me from the embarrassment of having to prove my ignorance to the little maintnence men.  Moms are good for things like that.