So, on this road trip my sister and I recently took, we took my hubby’s car, which is a Rav-4. The Rav used to be my car, until we got the Mom-van; nowadays, I don’t actually drive the Rav much, because I love my van and it loves me. But, although the Mom-van is designed for road trips, it doesn’t really make sense for just two people, so the Rav (or, Dad-mobile) became our valiant steed.
My key to the Dad-mobile has recently started doing this weird thing, where the clicky-part of the key doesn’t work and also it sometimes comes apart when I turn the key in the ignition. Usually, it just pops right back together and we get on with life. During this short trip, however, it started coming apart every time I used it…and it became harder to put back together. Annoying.
On our way home, about 200 miles from our driveway and desperately ready to be done with this emotionally and physically exhausting trip, we made what we thought would be our last stop – a potty break at a rest stop, literally in the middle of nowhere. I pulled the key out of the ignition and it broke in my hand. The clicky-part of the key not only popped apart; a piece of it broke off and the key fell out. Unfortunately, the clicky-part is kind of vital in starting the car – I tried to just use the key part, and it wouldn’t turn.
So, there we were, somewhere on I-80 and surrounded by truckers and wide open spaces, at 7am, three hours from home, having driven all night and in need of a hairbrush (ew, and toothpaste), with a broken key that wouldn’t start the car unless it was encased in its clicky-thing. What’s a girl to do?
She MacGyvers the heck outta that thing, that’s what.
Using a rubber band and a kiddie bandage we found in the console, I put the case back together and managed to get the car started.
“No more stopping,” I told my sister.
“Uh…don’t we need gas?” she asked.