Yesterday, after stopping at Vista Point to take the requisite photographs of the Golden Gate Bridge, we drove up to Sausalito, a small beachside community. We miraculously found street parking and walked over to the Caffe Trieste for lunch -- namely, a pair of wood fired vegetarian pizzas. Not bad. (My mother said the crusts tasted like roti, which is a compliment.)
The nightmare began later when we decided to stop at the car to drop off some stuff before shopping around. Like an idiot, I leave the keys in that aforementioned enormously tall trunk while taking out candies and whatever else the other family members are requesting. I realized my error shortly after closing the trunk door. I asked the valets in the neighboring lot if they have one of those SlimJim tools. They said no.
So here we are, locked out of a rental car, in some remote vacation town. Did I mention it was the Fourth of July?
At least we have cell phones. I called my car insurance company, who inform me that my policy provides collision coverage for rentals but not roadside assistance. Great. Maybe they do give better services to celebrities. My sister took the local approach, getting numbers for local locksmiths from the police. She found one that can be in the area within the hour and would charge $55. We consider ourselves lucky.
Meanwhile, those neighboring valets find a wire clothes hanger and get to work. Perhaps it's because they're not busy, or really bored, but they exercise the utmost patience in trying to unlock the front passenger door. About half an hour later (or about 25 minutes after I would have thrown the warped hanger across the street in frustration), they actually succeeded. We tip the valets generously, call the locksmith to cancel, and consider ourselves luckier.
I removed the keyless entry from the keychain and handed it to my sister for safekeeping. Then we went shopping.