(In which, Feve gets belted.)
Before you get your knickers soaked, first let me introduce the apparatus:
A familiar enough strap, yes? Complete with Tab A and Slot B and a little red button to press when you’re ready for release.
Push the red button, and Slot B is supposed to release Tab A.
Key Words: is supposed to
Enter, Moi. (Seriously, why do these things only happen to ME?)
So yesterday, approximately three minutes before I was due to begin my final appointment for the day, I pulled into the parking lot of the building in which my presence was expected. Like any normal person in this kind of rushed-arrival situation, I:
- Put the car in park.
- Turned the ignition key to the ‘off’ position.
- Took a deep breath.
- Read a ‘good news’ text message and responded accordingly.
- Took a drink of my water.
- Clicked the red button on my seatbelt.
- Clicked the red button on my seatbelt.
- Clicked the red button on my seatbelt.
- Clicked the red button on my seatbelt again.
- Had a panic attack when I realized my seatbelt was trying to eat me(!)
Not fucking kidding.
Yesterday afternoon, at approximately 1:28pm, I was attacked by my seatbelt.
I pressed the red button.
I yanked.
I yelled.
I jabbed at that fucking button with my keys.
I pounded it with my fist.
And then I stopped cold. Because what if the *belt* part of my seatbelt decides to lock up with all this banging about on red buttons and straps me in so tight I can’t breathe?
At which point, of course, my rational brain took over with the helpful chant of Can’tBreatheCan’tBreatheCan’tBreathCan’tBreathe, CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE!
:: in through the nostrils ::
:: out through the ears ::
Call me crazy, but I didn’t want to have to call 9-1-1 and tell them I was stuck in my car because my seatbelt was trying to eat me. For one thing, they’re a little too liberal on their interpretation of Involuntary Commitment around these parts for my taste. Besides, it would make me late for my appointment. (And that thought is what galvanized me to action. Because I am never late for work. Especially not because my car decided to rope me into some involuntary bondage.)
So I did what any 40-year-old, overfed, not-so-flexible-anymore, desperate non-housewife would do: I completed a feat of acrobatics, the likes of which have never before been done by any being that is not a cat.
I pulled the chest strap out as far as it would go, slipped it over my head, did the same with the lap belt, shimmied my legs up, around the back of my neck and over the steering wheel, banging my nose with my knee and keeping my arms outstretched with the belt fisted in each hand…
(It’s not as easy as it sounds, people!)
Aaannnnnd…
VOILA!
I extracted myself.
I looked like this. Only with more seatbelt and less fur. And I was more bendy. But not nearly as cute.
So if you happened to see a woman in the throes of a violent tai-chi session while simultaneously doing yoga behind the wheel of a parked vehicle yesterday?
That was me.
(No autographs, please.)
I told my spouse about this bizarre occurrence before we went to bed last night, and – in his usual sensitive and empathetic manner – he said, “So now the seatbelt’s broken?”
Thanks, dear. Thank you for applauding my circus feat and commiserating with me about my panic attack and caring about the seatbelt burns on my hands and overall showing your concern for my mental health. No, seriously. Thank you. I love you too.
@#*^&!
!!!!!
Anywhoo…
I made it to my appointment on time. So apparently my near-death-by-seatbelt experience only lasted about two minutes. But it felt like three hours. (What can I say? Time stands still when your car is eating you.)
And now I can officially add a new skill to my CV: Seatbelt Wrangler.
I’d fit right in with these folks:
Don’t you think?
oh my poor lovey, *hugs and kisses*
did you and the seat belt come to a mutually compatible understanding afterwards?
If you consider “yanking with all my might to get it unstuck while threatening its life with scissors and cursing like a sailor” to be mutually compatible understanding… Then, yes.
Seatbelt Wrangler I love it.
Welcome to the Wrangler Guild, probably better than Insect Wrangler.
cb (aka d4t4.wr4ngl3r / data.wrangler)
Thanks! Will there be an induction ceremony? 😛
You must have bruises that look like chinese characters. Um,… Flashlight with a seatbelt cutter tool and window breaker – Get one in case that bastard decides to act up again.
Have scissors, will travel.
I tried to comment about two minutes after you posted this, and had to enter the “required fields” which is unusual for wordpress, but then it kicked me out and said they were “invalid” (wtf?), and then the comments disappeared. I will try again if this works.
Sorry about that. This one got through. Hopefully you’re seeing responses okay.
OK. Now as I tried to say before, this was hilarious! rotflmfao.
Reminds me of sex in a Volkswagon Beetle without the “payoff”.
Don’t judge the hubby too harshly…we men are hunter-gatherers and mistakenly think we are supposed to fix everything. It has a way of blinding us to the more important questions like “are you alright?” etc. It is a bass-ackwords way of asking if he needed to fix it. (imho).
I am impressed by your ingenuity (and your flexibility).
Great post…tanks, I needed that.
Chazz
I wonder if you could get unemployment compensation for being out of work as an “examiner of underclothing”, “knocker-up of work (or unemployed) people, or a “sampler of drugs”?…or maybe I should consider a career change…maybe post it on Monster.com just to see if I got any offers.
For the last sixteen years I have listed my spouse’s profession as “Domestic Goddess”…and they actually called me to clarify what I meant (the first time).
At least now I know who to call if I need a “Seatbelt Wrangler.”
c.
I think my favorite on that list is “cow banger” – though “turnip shepherd” comes in a close second. 😉
Hmmm… I’ve never had sex in Love Bug…
Gotta luv your “old man” as this would have probably been my response at that time of night as well, being on semi auto pilot…
He drove my car today when we went out to run an errand. I raised my eyebrow at him after he strapped in, and with a somewhat panicked expression, he unclicked his seatbelt and refastened it “just to make sure it’s working.” I don’t think it registered until *right then* that I’d truly – literally – been in a really tight spot.
hahaha. and LOVE the work-work-work thing, but so small. I magnified so as to read, it’s hilarious on its own. Colorist of Artificial Fish. Fish-Bender. Beef Twister . .etc. I needed a laugh and this certainly gave it
Aren’t those great? Examiner of Underclothing – it’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it! 😛
Ummmm…… yeeeeee haaaa ?? 😀
chris recently posted…Vintage Postcard Humor: Cheap As One
Something like that. o_O
An Army story here, I was once sent out to take down an orienteering course with a civilian and an injured captain. The civilian was driving and I would get out and gather up the stuff at each stop. We were always supposed to wear a seatbelt. I did. And when the driver tried to knock over a small tree a bit too vigorously, the bolts holding my seat to the jeep sheared. I went face first into the windshield. I came to rest face down on the floor. I WAS STILL BUCKLED IN. The seatbelt was mounted to the seat not the vehicle. It is very difficult to get out of a seatbelt upside down. The buttons have been moved on the latches to make it easier, but you still need to remember that as soon as it unlatches you are going to fall.
I was unhurt, but I did not put the belt back on.
Gah!
An orienteering course, you say?
Sounds like a crash course to me. 😛