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Roder -- Sometimes, tournament messes up the schedule Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Several years ago my husband and I were going to shoot in a golf tournament at the local course. It would be a busy day as we planned to go to a wedding in a neighboring town in the afternoon. He assured me the tournament would not interfere with our afternoon plans.
We took two vehicles to town. The car was to be serviced while we were golfing. Hubby picked me up at the service station and I rode along in the pickup to the golf course. I complained because there was hardly room for me to get into his pickup. I had to share the passenger seat with a huge wooden rack of his seed-corn-sales supplies and a box of caps with the Pioneer logo.
We golfed in different foursomes and my round ended earlier than his. He told me to take the pickup home when I was finished and he would bring the car a little later. That sounded like a workable plan because it would take me longer to get ready for the wedding than it takes him. I felt like I was already in a bit of a bind time-wise and was very eager to get home.
Climbing into the pickup the thought flashed through my mind, why had he given me his extra set of keys? There were keys already in the ignition. I tossed the keys he had given me under the floor mat at my feet.
During the seven-mile ride home I was mentally making a list of things I must do and the most efficient manner in which to do them to make the most of the short time I had. I did want to arrive at the wedding ceremony in a timely fashion. The fact that the wooden rack that had bothered me earlier was missing, did not occur to me.
As I drove into the garage at home my teenagers were right there telling me I was to call the sheriff as soon as I got home. My response: I don't have time for that. I have to take a shower and get ready to leave.
The kids were adamant. "Mom, it was the Deputy Sheriff. He said you had to call right away." I knew the Deputy Sheriff. He had been my brother's classmate. I certainly wasn't intimidated by his position. After all, I was a law-abiding lady with nothing to fear.
Giving it a second thought, I realized if I wanted my impressionable teenagers to respect authority, I had better practice it as well as preach it. I called the number I had been given. The kids hung around to find out what was going on. The manager of the golf course answered the phone. My goodness, what was the law investigating up there? The sheriff, who had also been golfing, told me that a pickup truck had been stolen from the golf course parking lot and he was told I was seen driving it. A light bulb exploded in my brain and I gasped: Oh, that's why there were so many keys!
He told me I had to bring it back immediately. I argued: I don't have time. I am supposed to be at a wedding in an hour.
"You DO have time," he told me using the voice of authority. I was not being allowed to decide when I had time to return it and I was definitely not going to get there in time to witness a wedding ceremony.
On the way back to town the full realization of how spaced out I had been hit me. This truck not only had no rack of supplies on the front seat, it wasn't even exactly the color of our truck - but almost! In addition, it didn't have a large magnetic seed corn sign on the driver's door. Our truck also had a personal Iowa license plate proclaiming CORN in bold letters. Under normal circumstances it was instantly recognizable.
The consequences of my mistake were not as bad as they could have been. Grand Theft Auto is not something this legal secretary wanted showing up on a police record. The authorities shrugged off my mistake and the owner of the pickup had a good laugh at my expense.
I take only partial responsibility for this incident - too much hurry and not enough thinking. BUT the fellow who left the pickup unlocked with keys in the ignition can't be considered completely innocent. There are more moms-in-a-hurry out there who could make the same mistake. If he had kept his keys in his pocket, his pickup would have been waiting in the lot for him when he finished his round of golf. I apologized but, to be honest, I feel he doesn't deserve a lot of sympathy.
Mary Roder lives in Remsen, Iowa. |
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