Mission Possible

For the last several years, Elena and I have taken an annual mother-daughter trip, usually involving a long weekend at the coast or in the mountains. One year we hiked Mount Adams and slept under the stars without a tent. Last year marked our first international travel. Elena made all the arrangements for us to explore Ibiza, Madrid, and Paris. Two of my sons joined us for the last half our our European adventure. It was glorious.

In return for taking me on that fabulous summer trip to places in Europe I had never been, this year I wanted to take Elena to places where I am from in the Midwest where she had never been.

Yes, she has tasted tapas in Toledo, Spain; but has she eaten a Hawkin’s cream-filled, chocolate covered long john in Ashland, Ohio? Yes, she has savored sea bass in a Michelin Star restaurant in Madrid, but has she ever enjoyed ice cream from the famous Cincinnati Graeter’s who imports Oregon black raspberries in their most popular black raspberry chocolate chunk flavor? Sure, she has seen flamenco dancers perform in Spain and delighted in operas in Italy, but has she met her own flesh and blood second cousin who is a real live Elvis tribute artist? For all her worldwide globe trotting, I did not want her to miss out on the cultural experiences in her own back yard. Additionally, I wanted to show Elena my old stomping grounds so she could see for herself where her mother grew up and maybe understand me just a little bit better.

Our trip got off to a slow start. Making a new plan is old hat to me, now that I am a seasoned “stand by” traveler. Bumped off the red-eye, we were able to secure seats on the 11:30am flight the next day. I didn’t mind one more good night of sleep in my own bed. Besides, the elimination of hurry was my theme for the trip. I did not want one moment of the trip to be or feel rushed. So what we arrive twelve hours later than we initially planned. The rental car in Detroit was still there, ready and waiting for pick-up.

We stopped at Trader Joe’s and purchased water and healthy snacks and an insulated bag for our ensuing four hundred mile road trip and made our way to our first destination: Grand Rapids, Michigan.

We started in Grand Rapids to reconnect with my second cousin, Kathy, who I had not seen since my grandmother’s (her aunt’s) funeral some thirty-two years ago. I happened to be pregnant with Elena at the time, so it had been that long for Elena too.

Since we were arriving to the hotel later than expected and close to midnight, we decided to meet up with Kathy the following day. I checked into the hotel on the app, and used the digital key on my phone to let ourselves into the side entrance, bypassing the front desk rigamarole altogether. I felt very Gen Z with the digital key and all. That is, until the digital key failed to unlock the hotel room door.

No problem. I reassured Elena and marched up a floor to the front desk where the empathetic desk clerk clicked away at his keyboard informing me that somehow, I had already been checked out. It was obvious that I was not checked out and after some head scratching, a call to his supervisor, and assurance that I would not be charged twice, the kind desk clerk issued me key cards to the same room.

Despite a little travel fatigue and my disappointment that the digital key was a dud, I was feeling pretty proud of my positive attitude as I marched slowly back to the room where Elena waited patiently. We tried the key card. Strike two. The key card failed to unlock the door.

Back to the front desk I went, undaunted, and explained the situation to the same desk clerk, John, with whom I was now on a first name basis. John put his thinking cap on again, and accompanied me along with his fancy universal gadget that he assured me would open all doors.

When his fancy gadget failed, John explained the battery in the door thingy must be dead. Strike three.

He gave us two options. Option 1: wait for him to change the battery in the electronic door lock which we could clearly see he was less than enthusiastic about doing. Or option 2: he could issue us another room for ten dollars less than what we originally were expecting to be charged.

Mercifully for all of us, we chose option 2 and by 1am we were safely tucked in to our beds and fast asleep dreaming about the adventures that awaited us the next day.

After a solid six hours of restful sleep, we kept our commitment for a daily morning walk, quickly showered, packed, checked out and rolled our bags up to our rental car. Elena had already punched in our destination in her Maps app and asked me about adding a stop to grab some coffee on the way as she clicked the key fob to unlock the driver side door. We had a keyless entry.

Sure, I said, waiting for the trunk to pop open. She clicked the fob again. The doors did not unlock.

I took the fob from her and walked around the car clicking it again and again, like you do on an elevator when the elevator door won’t close, as if pressing the button a million times will make it work.

It doesn’t.

I decided to call my husband like a damsel in distress. I was not frantic, mind you. I just thought he might have helpful idea. In the mean time, Elena was being all Nancy Drew looking up YouTube videos on how to release the emergency key from the fob and use it to detach the side door handle cover to reveal the hidden key hole. While I am half-way listening to my husband’s well-meaning but lackluster suggestion that I call roadside assistance, I stand mouth agape, watching my gangster daughter practically break into this car and insert the funny looking key into the now exposed lock.

The key does not turn. The door remains locked.

At this point we call roadside assistance. The apologetic customer service agent on the other end of the line gives us two options. Option A: replace the battery in the key fob. What is it with batteries? Option B: Wait who knows how long for a tow to the nearest Avis rental car establishment and get a different car.

We know where an Office Depot is because we passed one half way into our brisk two mile walk earlier that morning. This time we choose option A, change the battery, thinking it would take less time and option B would completely unravel our only opportunity to reunite with my cousin.

We wheel our bags to the counter and meet the morning desk agent, Trevor, informing him of our plight and asking if we could stow our luggage behind the counter while we hoof it to Office Depot. Trevor, obviously wanting to impress my beautiful daughter, asks if he could have a stab at opening the door. Trevor, clearly impressed himself by Elena’s new found skills, tries his hand at opening the door but to no avail. To his credit, he looks for a spare battery behind the counter. No luck. So, hi ho, hi ho, off to Office Depot we go, and we just might have been whistling, as I recall.

While we were cool during the early morning walk, now we are sweating buckets in the hot mid-morning Michigan sun. The nice man at Office Depot goes above and beyond the call of duty basically risking life and limb to open one of those impossible-to-open thick double-layered plastic packages (unless you carry a Swiss Army knife which we don’t). He pops open the key fob and replaces the battery. One hundred percent sure it is going to work this time, we practically run back to the car excited to try the fresh battery. With every step closer, I feel hope rising, and with right arm outstretched, I press the key fob fervently at the car, again and again, dancing around it like the Israelites marching around Jericho, waiting for the walls to come a-tumbling down, or at least all the car doors to fling open at once.

They don’t.

Now what? We are out of options and it looks like I am going to miss out on seeing my cousin.

We trudge back to the front desk where Trevor is waiting. He wants to try. Of course. Be my guest. What do we have to lose. He opens the key fob to make sure we have put the battery in correctly. Yes, Trevor, we weren’t born yesterday. He snaps it back together and pushes the button from where he is standing behind the counter, inside the hotel, a long way away from the car and the parking lot.

Weirdly, we notice the trunk of another vehicle about twenty yards in front and to the right of ours mysteriously pop open. In slow motion and in complete silence, Elena and I look at each other and then at Trevor and then at the cars. You could hear a pin drop.

We burst out laughing. And we laugh hysterically, slapping our knees as it dawns on us what has happened. We race to the car with our bags.

It is the exact same make and the exact model and the exact same color with toll tag thingy in the front windshield and everything. I kid you not.

We had spent all this time trying to break into a car that was not ours!!!

At this point, I am busting up, totally embarrassed. Elena is irritated with herself for not recognizing something different, like maybe the license plate or something. I sheepishly tell Elena that I will get all the bags in the car while she puts that metal door handle part back on the car.

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy. You have to help me put this back on.” She won’t let me get away with anything. As we walk back to the car we have spent the last hour apparently trying to break into, the people whose rental car it really is walk up with their bags.

I am over the top apologizing for our error. Elena and I are both talking at once, explaining ourselves. I offer to give them my information in case we have ruined their car or they get charged for damage or something. Gratefully, they take it all in stride, their key fob works, and their car starts right up and they drive away, probably relieved to get away from the likes of us.

We get on with our trip and have a grand time visiting Kathy and lots of other old friends and relatives and enjoying bakery goods and ice cream and seeing the house where I grew up and walking the one mile route to school in the rain, up hill at least one way. Of course we recounted our story to everyone we saw, and it got better and better with the telling. And we imagine Trevor telling everyone he sees for the next several months about these two crazy women who tried to break into a car that was not theirs.

But what were we to learn.

Not everything is as it seems. It’s not always a dead battery. Girls have skills. You can get more skills on the fly. All those Nancy Drew Mystery computer games were worth it. You can do everything right and still things don’t always work they way you think they should. Sometimes you have to step back and look at the big picture to figure things out. It pays to be nice because in the end you might be the one looking silly but at least you were nice. Be willing to laugh at yourself and not take yourself too seriously. Laughter is the best medicine. Life’s the best when shared with your beautiful daughter, no matter what happens. Maybe all of the above and more.

By the way, you’re welcome, Trevor.