Jimmying a Jimmy
I have my fair share of “duh” moments on a daily basis, but last night’s will make it into the Hall of Fame.
Proud to support (and heckle) my office softball team, I met up with some fellow fans to watch the team practice. As self-appointed GM, it’s vital I be there to ensure Team Where My Pitches At? performs.
What I forgot to ensure, however, was the location of my keys. Distracted and a bit ditzy, I placed my keys in my purse — but it’s softball, I thought — better stow that purse under the passenger seat.
Practice went well; we laughed and made light of a rare chilly evening in Florida. Set to celebrate with post-practice dinner, I realized my keys were nowhere in sight. Stellar.
Thankfully, our self-appointed Owner had an emergency kit to jimmy open my … Jimmy. Those GMC engineers knew what they were doing in 2001, because that thing was a bitch to crack. One of our IT guys MacGyver’ed it, and the whole debacle only took about an hour away from drinking time.
I’ve got 11 days left with Jimmy before he goes to Daytona to be with Slick Rick, his proud new owner. Lord, beer me the strength to get through it.
About WittyburgSarcastic, sports-obsessed writer & FL native navigating SF.
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