Today I almost killed my dad's car.
He owns an oyster farm on a beach in the middle of nowhere, and today we did a basic inspection of the farm (which consists of plastic wire-mesh bags full of oysters on metal trestles. You leave the oysters to grow for three years, occasionally cleaning seaweed and other sea creatures off the bags. Oyster farming is a horribly dull line of farming.) When we got back to the car -- parked up on the wrack -- we changed out of our waterproofs and I instinctively slammed the boot down. With the keys still inside. While the car was still locked. My dad turns his head around and his face goes red. "Don't tell me you're after locking the fuckin' boot?!"
After my dad shouted various insults and ran around aimlessly, I became aware of two very important factors: 1, It's the lowest tide of the year, and thus it's going to be the highest tide of the year. 2, the tide was coming in. Quickly eyeing a loose lock on the back door, my dad begins rapidly jimmying the lock by forcing the handle and gets the door open. The alarm starts going off, but that's the least of our worries. We quickly start trying to tear the backseat apart, but it's firmly bolted in place. After more expletives, where he oddly called both me and the car a "Bastard of a thing", he set off in the direction of the beach's entrance without a word.
As I sat in the front seat, soaking wet from the rain, I tried to dry the car with a microfibre cloth just to give myself something to do. I wondered if the car would be able to withstand the tide, or would it wash away. I wondered even if the car was insured, or if this was even covered. I thought about my sister, "now you are definitely the favorite child..."
My dad came back with a selection of wrenches and we quickly took apart the back seats. and we could peer into the boot. Thinking the worst was over, the car threw us another curveball; the top of the seats wouldn't lift, and as I caught a glimpse of the underside, I realized they were bolted too. With hex screws. I tried every which way to worm into the boot, but I couldn't fit in the small gap we had made. My dad, under profanity, once again disappeared to the other side of the beach with a final remark, "If this doesn't fucking work, I taking the battery out and we're getting the fuck out of here. T'fuck." I'm ready to die at this point.
(T'fuck, or To fuck, is an Irish expression used at the end of a sentence which doesn't have any direct meaning. It merely adds emphasis to your statement.)
My dad comes back with a large fence post and jams it behind the seat and raises it just enough so I could scramble underneath. Taking my phone for torch, I finally locate the keys to the car and save the day. I thought for a brief moment that we'd have to decode the car keys because the car was broken into, but fortunately the car isn't that new.
We got the fuck out of dodge, my dad calmed down almost instantly, and bought a lotto ticket in hopes of some incoming good karma. I never want to use a car boot ever again.
tl;dr, I locked the keys in the boot while the car was on a beach with the tide incoming.
