Not What it Looks Like

The unedited, reprinted version of how Island Workers take care of dopes like me on their off-time.  Thank you, Roy.

One of the greatest benefits of living on Hilton Head is the constant, personal attention one receives from fellow islanders.  A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about how friendly this island is towards cyclists, pets, and kids.  A simpler way of putting this, is that we are a people-friendly community, even towards dolts like this writer, who locked her keys in the car while walking Sam, the beagle, at one of our many dog-friendly sites.Sir Roy
At once, a dashing, prince of a guy came out of the brand, spanking, new, dashing Sea Pines Beach Club, and proceeded to – for want of a more accurate phrase – break into my car for me.
How did he know how to do this, you may be wondering?  And the answer is, I stopped asking questions like that a long time ago, especially when someone is doing you a massive favor.  It doesn’t matter how they know how to do it.  I learned this from my mother-in-law, who managed an entire brood of amazing kids and grand-kids.
That’s the beginning and end of the story.

But since I am allowed a couple hundred more words in my own blog, I will take this very first (and I’m sure only) opportunity to put my rather impractical Shakespearean Studies semester to use in the retelling of this yarn:
After walking Sam, the wonder-hound, on the beach, a damsel (me) returned to her carriage – which was locked up tight – to find her keys glinting on the front seat.
“Dash it all,” said she (or something less repeatable).
And verily, she trod the path to consult with property peddler, Jeff Hall (once known as Grand Tennismaster of yore, before deciding to alter his life’s journey to make real money, rather than teach tennis brats like our damsel heroine).
“We will need special arms for this task,” said Peddler Hall.  And forthwith, he went hunting for the proper instruments.  At once, Sir Roy Goyochea, knight of catering for the Sea Pines environs, offered his service, and promptly went to the boot of his own carriage for appropriate weaponry.
“Forsooth!  I am ready for the undertaking,” Stated Sir Roy, upon returning, brandishing his own shiny, hanger of coats.
“But I don’t need to hang my coat,” said the maiden.  “I need to get into my carriage.”
“Ah, ha!  And so you will.”  Sir Roy assured her.  And off they went to the carriage stable.
On the way, the young knight straightened out the hanger of coats, leaving the end curved as a hook.  Then carefully, using a magazine to keep from scratching the paint, Sir Roy maneuvered the wire through the top part of the carriage window.
At this point, several people paused to spectate, warily.  At which point, Sir Roy said,             “This isn’t what it looks like.”
(It is here that the tale departs from the factual ending, which was that, try as he might, Sir Roy could not unlock the door, and the Triple A guy had to come out and use something called a Slim Jim.  But that ending doesn’t quite have the epic legend panache I was hoping for.)
And in a fell swoop, Sir Roy hit the lock, and presto!  The carriage door opened.
“Voila!” He said.
“Oh, my charming hero,” said the maiden.
“Arff, arff!” Agreed Sam, the hound.
And Sir Roy bowed his “your welcome,” deeply as they drove away.

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