that’s life Persistence usually pays off

RIVER VALLEY and OZARK AREA — I am not good in emergencies. Ask anyone in my family.

My usual reaction is to scream, scream while running around in a blind panic, or fall to my knees and cry until I hyperventilate.

This, and my compete lack of math skills, is why I did not become a doctor.

However, I was quite proud of myself in a recent situation. I was almost late to an interview, because I couldn’t unlock my husband’s car. To me, that’s almost a life-or-death matter. I hate to be late.

My husband was out of town and he’d taken my van, so I had his little Honda. I started to leave - some 15 minutes early - to meet a couple of women whom I’d already interviewed on the phone. I told them I was coming, and I needed to ask a few more questions.

I tried to unlock the car, and it wouldn’t unlock. I remembered that my husband told me sometimes my key to his car didn’t work.

What to do, what to do. I recalled hearing that you could get to the back seat through the trunk - just in case the Mafia locked you in there, or something.

I opened the trunk and saw a rectangular place in the back that said “Open.”

I crawled halfway in and pushed on it. It was the arm rest in the back seat, so there was no way my body was going through that hole.

My white jacket was getting dirty, plus it was approximately 147 degrees in the trunk, so I took the jacket off and got partially inside.

I am also claustrophobic, but my adrenaline was pumping and time was wasting.

I honestly thought, “What would McGruber do?” Not McGyver, the guy who can get out of any situation with a paper clip and a shoestring, because I’ve never watched that show. But I have seen McGruber on Saturday Night Live.

Two plastic Wiffle-ball bats were in the trunk. I used one to reach the lock, but I couldn’t push it up.

I sat up and looked frantically around the trunk. I grabbed a golfball retriever and tried it, but it wasn’t small enough to grip the lock.

I grabbed an iron out of my son’s golf bag that was in the trunk. Theclub had an indentation on its back that I thought might work. It didn’t.

Because my legs were sticking out of the trunk and flailing, I kept expecting someone to stop and ask me if I needed help. I also tried a putter to no avail, and I considered trying to lasso it with the jumper cables.

My boss and a co-worker had e-mailed me just that morning about my persistence on this particular story, and they were the wind beneath my wings. I couldn’t give up.

After banging and pushing around and almost breaking out the window with the golf clubs, I climbed out of the trunk and tried the key again. It worked!

I sped off to the interview - sweaty, hair askew, carpet burn on my elbow and half out of my mind, but I made it. I was still five minutes early.

When I got home that evening, I told my husband. I even went out in the driveway to reenact the scene.

I couldn’t get the door unlocked with the golf club this time either.

My husband took my key and unlocked the car.

“Oh, yeah. I remember. You have to turn your key over for it to work,” he said.

So I’m not McGruber. Or McGyver.

But I’m still persistent and proud of it.