Today, after a nice canoe trip through Ft. DeSoto’s mangrove trails and the ensuing hour playing on the beach, I told Shawn that I would pack up half of our stuff and make the first trip back to the car.
After loading various fishing rods and beach chairs into the trunk, and at about the point that the lock clicked securely shut closed, I realized that I had just locked the keys in the car.
It is hard to describe the feeling that one gets when this happens—I think it is one of those things that if you’ve done it, you know—but at once my body filled with adrenaline, my instinctual bad mouth said “SHIT!”, and my philosophical side thought, The keys are in there. They are not in there.
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