This happened to me last week:
After a rather good day at work (quick painless jobs, no annoying customers), I get home nice and early and after running a few errands, I return home and ponder how to best spend my free arvo. I decide to take the dog down to the park and then head to my mechanic to try to sort out why my new car is running hot. I take a shower and get changed and then grab my wallet and phone and head out the door with the dog, only to realise as soon as the door closes that I've locked my keys inside the house. Shit. The missus is at work and isn't getting back until late, and I've blocked three cars in to the laneway down the side of my house, and one of the owners has already asked if I'll move my car soon please. ARGH.
I decide to try to open the locked kitchen window. It's one of those aluminium framed sliding jobbies. I get the flyscreen off, and manage to push the window half out of the sill so I can get a couple of fingers through the opening (I'm looking at my keys on the table on the other side of the window) but it's not enough, so I keep moving and manoeuvring the window hoping for more gap or to get the frame out of the sill altogether. Inevitably I try for too much and SMASH! and the whole thing shatters everywhere. I curse my stupidity a lot. My arm is bleeding. Awesome.
I grab my keys, go and park my car, tend to my arm and start googling glaziers. The second one I call agrees to come and fix it straight away for $180 (wince). I agree and start cleaning up glass, and then head out to grab some cash for him. When I get back he's waiting for me so I quickly park behind him in the laneway and let him in to do the job. He's an affable chap and the job is done quickly. Before he goes to leave, he compliments me on my car and we chat about old cars for a while. I say thanks and goodbye and jump in my car to let him leave. My car stalls as I'm reversing out of the laneway. He's already started backing out. I quickly try to start it but it's in reverse. I fumble and panic and assure myself that he will see me and stop reversing.
FUCK HE'S NOT STOPPING.
By the time my hand gets anywhere near the horn he plows into the front of my car. With his truck. His large glazier's truck. Into my beautiful old Holden that I just got on the road a week ago. Much front end damage ensues. He has a broken indicator lense. After swapping of details and apologies and reassurances from him that it will be sorted by his panel beater mate, he leaves. I park my battered car and retreat inside, utterly defeated. The dog does not get walked.
That poor dog.
