Land Pirates

I went plundering for gold today.

Really, let me explain.  I am afraid I have started doing things just so I can blog about them.  I'm pretty sure I'm okay with that, because everyone wins.  For one thing, I actually do stuff, instead of hiding in the house whenever I'm not running, buying food, or washing my clothes.  Subsequently, I have more things to talk about, instead of dwelling on the ghosts of embarrassments past or speaking exclusively of my husband and cat.  (Not that the awful and shameful things I've done over the course of my life aren't entertaining, but I'm sort of sitting on that gold mine until I finish writing my book.  Yes, I'm writing a book, because the world needs one more self-indulgent memoir by someone who isn't remotely famous.)  And, as the cherry on top of the Sundae that is my sloppy life, getting out of the house gets me out of Andy's way while he's trying to "do school work" which I'm pretty sure means internet window-shop for mountaineering equipment and watch videos of Basil Marceaux.com. 

But I digress.  On this cold, blustery August day in Idaho, I went on a mission.  A few days ago, we received a flier in the mail from a Ford dealership across the state line in Pullman, Washington.  They were having a desperate fabulous promotion wherein recipients of a magic key (myself included) could come and test their keys in a magic lock box.  The recipient of the one key that was capable of opening this lock box would win a car, and two other lucky winners would walk away with a four-wheeler or an iPad, respectively.  Approximately 25,400 others (according to the odds in the fine print of the flier) would walk away with the consolation prize:  three gold coins.

It seemed impossible to lose, and the chance of winning a car that I would immediately sell for a significant sum of money was too tempting to ignore.  I tried to convince Andy to come with me, but he had to "do school work," so I set off alone to claim my fortune.  Twenty minutes later, I found myself in a showroom full of schmucks like myself, clutching our fliers and magic keys, faraway, hopeful looks in our eyes.  A smarmy salesman approached me and led me over to the lock box, which was actually just a slab of plastic with a fake car lock mounted in the center of it.  I was expecting a sinister, alluring Pandora's box of considerable size and ominousness.  A piece of plastic?

But I had come too far and the stakes were too high to stand there and be judgmental.  With sweaty palms, I plunged my key into the lock.  It jammed about halfway in, and my head dropped in utter defeat.  I had not won a car.

But it appeared another prize was just around the corner.  The smarmy salesman checked the prize code on my flier to see if I had won the four-wheeler or the iPad or the gold coins, also expensive things that I would sell so that I could, um, eat and have electricity.  He looked at the code, looked at me, and broke into a shit-eating grin.  "I'll be right back with your prize."

Oh boy.  Will it be the iPad or the gold coins, I wondered.  Which is worth more?  I waited patiently for a few minutes, and when he returned, he appeared to be empty handed.  Then he sunk his hand into his pocket, withdrew his fist, and plunked three gold coins down onto the table. 

Three...Sacajawea...dollars.

Well, Andy, put your pants on, mama's in the money and we're going out drinking tonight!