Inigo Montoya: I do not think that means what you think it means.
Dug had a crappy morning. Which reminded me that years and years ago, I took a road trip to Mexico with three of my friends. We planned to be there for Cinco de Mayo, thinking there would be cool parties and street festivals, and, since we were single, young ladies. We got there and pretty much nothing was happening. We asked around as to when the party was going to start.
Turns out, Cinco de Mayo is a holiday invented by the American beer companies. So we kept driving south through Baja California towards Cabo San Lucas.
As we drove, we noticed a rodeo being held more or less at the side of the road in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. We decided to stop and watch.
The rodeo was cool and all, but partway through, one of my friends needed to go back to the car for something. I reached in my pocket to give him the keys. Pocket was empty.
We all walked back to the car and discovered the keys were there, still in the ignition. Doors locked. There was no spare key. So we went back to the rodeo and started asking around as to whether there was a locksmith or a mechanic in “town.” Turns out there was one guy who didn’t really have a shop but kept a bunch of tools in his truck. Not really sure how it happened, because there were no cell phones or any phones that I noticed, but about 15 minutes later, he showed up. And he had a slim jim.
Unfortunately, none of us, including him, knew how to use one. So all I did was break the internal latch mechanism on my passenger door (which thereafter forced me to go around and open the door for my wife whenever she exited the car—kind of a good thing when we were dating—but unfortunately also forced me to do the same thing for my friends or anyone else who sat in the passenger seat).
Panic was now setting in and we were coming very close to smashing a window. While someone else was off looking for a hammer, I noticed the key was still in the on position. Which meant the power windows would work.
I asked the mechanic if he had anything fairly long, slender, and reasonably strong. He produced a machete. So I climbed on top of the car and wedged the machete into the sun roof far enough to push the button and raise the glass. Then I stuck a stick into the narrow gap and reached down to the lock button and pushed it with the stick. Click. Sweet relief.
The next day we found someplace that would make keys and had a spare made. Which came in handy because I only locked the keys in the car two more times that trip. Only once while the engine was still running, though.