The Key to Success

Is it breaking and entering if you’re renting the house you’re climbing into through a second-floor window? Actually, can you hang on for a minute? I just want to check the statute of limitations on something. . . .

OK, we’re good. This was so long ago I was just a kid when I did this. Well, wait, that sounds worse. I’d better back up and explain. My grandparents rented a house on the Jersey Shore every summer. They stayed at the same house several years in a row and when that became unavailable, they made the big move and started renting the house across the street. It allowed us all to get to know and love the neighbors, and my sister, cousins and I had the same playmates every year. It was great.

These days, when you rent a house there’s usually a keypad with a code that’s changed between guests, but back then it was just regular keys for the lock in the door. One of our first times at the new beach house, the owners were supposed to mail my grandfather the keys, and when that didn’t happen, they promised to leave them at the local rental agency office or under a doormat or something. We arrived and no key was to be found and the front door was locked. After driving a few hours to get there, and having a car jam-packed with food that should find its way to refrigeration, that’s not a great discovery to make. We went around the perimeter looking for open or unlocked windows, but no such luck. Not one to give up, my grandfather’s eyes turned to the big wrap-around deck on the second floor. He drove his car onto the lawn and parked so the hood was under the deck. Then he stood on the hood and hoisted me up so I could stand on his shoulders and pull myself up over the railing. From there I crawled in, went downstairs, and unlocked the door to let everyone else in.

This, in a nutshell, is why I love my parents so much for letting me go without them to spend time with my grandparents. Adventure always abounded. Case in point, my aunt came down to join us at the beach and after dinner one night, she decided to go into town for some clothes shopping. I went with her, I’m sure I was on the prowl for a soft-serve ice cream cone, or a visit to the toy store or bookshop because clothes shopping was not on my list of beachy goodness. We took my grandfather’s car. My aunt was trying something on in the changing room and decided she liked it. She tossed the car keys out to me and asked me to bring her purse in from the locked car so she could make her purchase. This was before remotes, when cars had 2 metal keys, one for the car doors and one for the ignition. Don’t feel bad if you didn’t know that was how car keys used to work, because this was the night I learned about it, by putting the ignition key in the car door, giving it a good twist, and bending the heck out of it. That key would not be starting any cars ever again. I stood there, first in stunned silence, then with a growing sense of doom over having to go in and report how badly the simple request to bring in a purse had gone. I vividly remember peeking into the changing room and seeing how at ease my aunt was, standing there in her bra chatting with the salesgirl (the seventies were so interesting). I was preparing for how much trouble I was about to be in, wondering how it all went so wrong so quickly. I took a deep breath and showed my aunt the mangled key. She burst out laughing. She got dressed and showed the salesperson the key and she burst out laughing and then I was laughing too. I’ll always be so grateful to my aunt for having that reaction. If you can be mid-incident and find humor in it, you’ve unlocked the secret to a happy life (but not the car).

We really did have a problem on our hands. We were too far from the beach house to walk back. The salesgirl offered us the store phone, but we didn’t know the number to call. She pulled out a phone book, but we didn’t know the names of the people we were renting from. Cell phones weren’t a thing. Somehow my aunt remembered hearing my grandfather say he had a spare set of keys hidden somewhere in the car. The hunt was on! Of course, I let my aunt unlock the car. We searched every inch of the interior. No luck. We felt under the front and back bumpers. Nothing. Time was really passing. The salesgirl was, I think, genuinely disappointed to close up shop and leave as the situation was still unfolding. Finally, as ridiculous as it sounds, we popped the hood and searched the engine. And there, wrapped in tin foil, was a spare key.

I was just back down at the Jersey shore for a vacation. Much is the same and I couldn’t help but reminisce about my many past happy summers there. But I wasn’t disappointed when the hotel gave me a key card to my room and I didn’t have to climb in via my second-floor balcony.