Mrs. Teabody Carries the Big Purse

From the "funny if not so pathetic" file: 

Keyless Ignition and the Big Purse -- one woman's tale. 

It had to happen. Inevitability was written all over it. The day that "Ted" at Antrim Honda handed me the "key" to my new car and told me I had keyless ignition is burned into my brain. I was incredulous when I was told I could enter my locked car by standing near it, that I could start my car without having the key in my hand.

Conceding all that, I also knew in that instant that this “innovation” came with its own set of problems. After all, I am of THAT generation of women. I carry the Big Purse.

I and women just like me never leave our houses without everything we may need in the course of our day. Yes, I do admire those of you who tuck your credit card into your flip flops and the world is your oyster. Not so much for those of us carrying all the requisites for any and all transactions.

These include but are not limited to:  French wallet ( another whole story!) two checkbooks (ask your Granny what one is), notebook, paper calendar/planner, travel angel which has been with me in its battered case since November 1989, KindleFire, cell phone, sunglasses, five pens, hair pic, compact, lipstick and liner, omeprazole, VFW entry key AND car and shop keys. This is the cleaned up version. The streamlined version.  A handful of receipts, a pair of socks rolled up inside a baggie and a number of coupons have been winnowed out. A bottle of wine. A ticket to a play I saw two years ago. This is my s - - -. I MUST have this-- all of this - -to leave my house. I carry the Big Purse.

Yesterday I had a 7:00 A.M. hair appointment and I hopped into my car and pushed the button thinking in the back of my mind that maybe my keys weren’t in my Big Purse. The car started and I was off feeling good about the fact that my keys were with me. My hair appointment went well and I decided that since I had some time before the shop opened, I could pick up some Thanksgiving “stuff” before going to work. Everything went well until it came time to check out and I couldn’t find my keys inside my Big Purse. The young man was patient.

“I KNOW they’re in here somewhere,” I said my voice dripping apologies. His dear little eyes started to glaze over as I started placing items from the big purse onto the belt.

No luck.

“Let’s just enter your phone number, shall we?” he said trying very hard to be patient. ( I had the keen sense I was not the first woman of a certain age to put him through this.)

“Seriously. I KNOW I have them. I couldn’t drive my car if I didn’t have them . . .”

“Lady, (Lady), it’s all right. You’ll find them.”  And with that he rang  me up and I tried to slide my Sheetz loyalty card into the credit card machine before self correcting and finding my Capitol One.

“I’m really sorry,” I said.

“No problem,” he said and smiled. “Hope you find them.”

Reeking with humiliation I made my way toward my car thinking as I always do that my car might have locked itself up in my absence. Relieved to find the hatch open, I shoved my purchases inside and climbed into the driver’s seat with my Big Purse.

“This requires a dump,” I said moving the 12 Bed Bath and Beyond coupons from the passenger seat and tossing the roll of Christmas paper into the back seat. I shall spare you the details of the dump. Papers fluttered  through the air. A screwdriver fell to the floor. ( Very glad to find THAT) Suffice to say, there were NO KEYS inside the Big Purse.

Needing affirmation that the keys were actually INSIDE the car somewhere, I pushed the ignition button. Vroom. Vroom.

Cool. The keys ARE inside my car. SOMEWHERE. I am the first to admit that my car is just a larger version of my Big Purse. Enough said. I crawled out of the car. Looked under the driver’s seat. Opened the passenger side. I was just bending down to look under that seat when a sudden memory flashed through my brain. I had driven a friend back from the garage and had thrown the Big Purse toward the back seat. I had missed my mark. I remembered hearing things falling but by the time I reached home well after dark, I’d grabbed the Big Purse completely forgetting that not everything was inside.

I strolled around the car KNOWING my keys were lying on the floor. They were. The beady blue and gold fish, the disintegrating Giant loyalty fob,  the key to the front door which has never been locked, the key to my little shop Tickle Your Fancy . . .

And - - Voila! -- the key that isn’t a key but the key that is, nonetheless, the key I had to find.

When I entered the ninth grade several million years ago, I, along with all my classmates, was assigned a locker key. We were told that if we lost our locker key, we would have to pay the school the king’s ransom of $3 to replace it. And that is why when you look at photos from that era, you will see so many young women wearing a lanyard, ribbon or chain around their necks and from that hangs a single key.

 I tell you this because it has crossed my mind since this incident that there are worse things in the world than wearing a key (or keys) around my neck as a fashion accessory. Much easier to do that than forfeit the Big Purse, don’t you agree?