Seriously??

I forgot to update last weekend when I totally upped the ante of Dajah is a Fucking Retard with the stunt I pulled Friday night.

On my way back from Kristy's house, I stopped at a gas station. The one on 33rd and Broadway. Since I had approximately $2000 in digital still and video camera equipment in my bag on the front seat, as well as my purse, I opted to lock the doors as I ran in to grab a soda.

For the record, I don't drink soda. Except with booze. I had a bottle of Maker's in my car, so I was trying to preempt the imminent need for chaser.

I get out of my car while dude is pumping my gas (for those of you not in Oregon, apparently we're not legally competent enough to pump our own gas so gas stations pay people to do it for us). I stick my cell phone in my pocket. Grab my keys, get out of the car and lock my doors.

Just kidding, I didn't grab my keys. They were still in my ignition.

So, I'm at the fucking PUMP with my keys locked in my car.
With pretty much every expensive thing I own, short of my laptop, sitting on my passenger seat. Including my cigarettes and booze, which I could really have used at that point.

Long story short, Alison came and rescued me. Ransacked my house looking for my spare key, which was a fruitless endeavor. Went back to my car and noticed a warranty sticker on my window for road side assistance. Called it, and Kia dispached and paid for a lockout service to come liberate me from my embarassingly retarded predicament.

Since the time it took for me to discover this briiliant solution had pretty much wrecked my evening, I just left with Alison. I don't remember what we did, but it definitely involved doing whatever the fuck she wanted since she literally dragged her ass out of bed in her pajamas to come rescue my idiot ass.

Who locks their keys in their car at a busy gas station on a Friday night AT THE PUMP?

You've got three guesses and the first two don't count.