I Swear I’m Not Trying To Steal Your Truck

Here’s a fun fact. Back in the days when trucks had actual keys, if you put the wrong Ford key into a Ford ignition, the truck would think “STRANGER DANGER!” and completely shut down. As in, call a towing company, because only a Ford dealership knew how to bring your truck back from the dead.

I, needless to say, found this out the hard way.

We’re a hard-core Ford family, mostly because my dad worked for Ford, and I still have access to the Z Plan. As long as my mom’s alive, I can purchase or lease any Ford vehicle at the same price as a Ford employee.

I’m actually trying to time my leasing cycles according to my mom’s health and life expectancy so that, when she dies, I’ll have just entered a new lease cycle and will get the most out of my truck before I have to bite the bullet and pay what everybody else pays.

You say morbid. I say frugal.

The one problem with driving one of the most popular makes and models of SUV in America is that they all look alike.

Do you know how many red Ford Escapes there are in America? 14 kajillion, and their owners all shop where I shop.

I spend a lot of time in parking lots trying to break into other people’s vehicles. I’m not doing it intentionally. I don’t need your red Ford Escape, I have my own and it probably smells better.

I’ve actually tried to avoid the problem by having specialty license plates and an obvious decal in my front window.

That doesn’t matter because I’m blind as a bat and all I head like a lemming towards the nearest red Ford Escape-shaped object I see.

I really don’t think it’s fair when another red Escape owner parks their truck close to mine. That’s entrapment.

The worst part is when someone is actually in the Escape I’m trying in vain to open. In that event, I make the facial and hand gestures I intend to use if and when I encounter space aliens for the first time.

“Oops!” *wave* “Don’t mind me! *exaggerated shrug* “I mean you no harm.” *run away*

I usually notice that it’s not my truck before I’m noticed by passersby and I veer away as nonchalantly as a deer on a frozen lake.

The giveaway is usually something like big fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, or a child seat. Or a child.

The greatest moment of my life was when I caught a woman trying to break into my Ford Escape. I could see her across the parking lot, tugging at the back hatch of my truck and getting more and more frustrated when it wouldn’t open.

I took out my key fob and hit the hatch open button. My truck chirped obediently and the rear door majestically opened to grant the woman unfettered access like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The look of relief on her face was quickly replaced by one of confusion. What kind of sick, twisted individual would break into her vehicle and replace all of her familiar belongings with a brick, several black garbage bags, and a cardboard box full of recycling?

Why was everything covered in dog hair? She didn’t even own a dog. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?

Her husband and I thought it was hysterical. She was less amused, but managed a tight smile while I commiserated with her. “I do that all the time,” I said reassuringly.

I did not add, “But I never actually got one open. Wow.”

I pulled out of the parking lot that day with a new glow about me, already plotting to trap another hapless red Ford Escape owner, as I myself had been trapped so many times before.