This wasn't the first time the keys remained behind. It had happened in New Zealand and once in America. But this time things were different. This time asking for help was as hard as the break-in. The Slovakian word for 'coat hanger' escapes me. I scanned the contents of my wallet. "I have a pen, a credit card, my driver's license and a disposable vile of contact lens solution. Which one should we try first?" After all if McGyver could break out of a locked cell with just a clothes-pin and a Q-tip, we could certainly manage a simple car lock with my handy array of tools. Instead we opted to try the store. "They must have a coat hanger."

It was a typical town store; a few loaves of bread lying on a wooden rack, some canned goods, one freezer section for milk and yogurt, in the back a meat section. "You comb the store for a possible tool. I'll go talk to the Meat Lady." I pulled out my pen and motioned that I wanted to write. The Meat Lady tore off a small corner of meat wrapper and pushed it toward me. My picture of a coat hanger was flawless. "Do you have one of these?" I tapped the drawing..

With furrowed brow the meat lady eyed my drawing. She turned the drawing around and furrowed her brow again. Then she turned her head and smiled, a big smile, one that gave me confidence; she understood. Alas, she was shaking her head sideways. Her eyes met mine, "Nie." So I tried again. I drew a picture of a wire - a long line. "Do you have this?" She cocked her head and twirled the paper around. She stared at it; then she burst into another big smile and twirled the paper back to me. "Nie."

No hanger, no wire. I bit my lower lip and looked past her. The wall was lined with slabs of hanging meat all pierced with S-shaped spiked hooks. "That," I pointed to an empty hook. "How about that?" The Meat Lady didn't even turn around. "Nie."

I began to get worried. I needed a new strategy. I pushed my thumb and forefinger together and turned my wrist. "Vroom, vroom." That was car keys. I opened my hand and waved it across my chest "Bam!" That was locking them in the van. I looked hopefully at her. Then I pointed to the hanger drawing again. Again the big smile, again that word, "Nie."

Enter Meat Lady number two. A big woman in a white smock joined our friendly chat. The original meat lady pointed to me, turned her wrist as I had and threw her arm. The keys, the slammed door. Perhaps she had understood me after all. The woman in white nodded and marched to a book shelf. I watched her pull down a wire hook, uncoil it from a cloth sack and hand it out to me. The metal had been welded into a circle at the base and the tip was sharpened to a point. It's diameter was slightly thinner than a pencil. I took it. "Ok John, I've got something."

"What? We can't open the door with that."
"Got anything better?"
"That magazine rack is thinner." John pointed to a three foot black rack brimming with papers. Wouldn't that be a picture; two foreigners trying to thread a magazine rack through a car window. I smiled at John. "Nie."

So there we were outside working the sharp-pointed, pencil-sized hook into the window. But it didn't fit and only succeeded in creating small popping noises as it chipped away at the edge of the glass. We walked back into the store defeated.

"You hungry?" John asked. "Wanna get some bread?" We were in the middle of a crisis and he was bringing up food. Of course he was probably right. It was why we had stopped; we were starving. And food was important given the possibility that we might be there for hours. But we only had 20 Slovakian crowns left. Wouldn't it be prudent to save them in case we needed to buy our way out of this mess?

John circled the store one more time looking for a thin metal object he might have overlooked. With each go-round we broadened our vision - a nail file, a wire dangling from the ceiling, a string of paper clips. We found nothing; we discussed bending my VISA card and slipping it through the side window. Then we went back outside with the sharp-pointed, pencil-sized hook to try again.

"John look." We'd been spotted. A man had pulled up next to us and was offering me a phillips head screw driver. It was a wonderful gesture; but a screw driver was even thicker than our sharp-pointed pencil-sized hook. I shook my head, "Thanks anyway." The man leaned close to where I was working. "Problema," he whispered.

Yes it was definitely a problema, a bad problema, and that bad problema suddenly got worse when the threatening thunderstorm dumped its load. An instantly soaking rain, streaks moving through the air at top velocity. We fled for cover. From the doorway we watched giant water balls slam into the pavement and then bounce back up. The ground was swarming with thousands of tiny jester crowns - the milk splash caught on film in mid air and played back over and over at triple the speed. When the crowns finally gave way to small bubbling eggs, John took my pen, my detailed drawing of a hanger and dashed across the street. He'd spotted an open bar. Yes, we would run to every house in the town if we had to. But no need. Success! John came back waving a long wire. "They even bent it for me," he said. "I drew a car, some keys, did the slam routine, and Voila!" I looked at the wire, it was thicker than a hanger but definitely thinner than the sharp-pointed, pencil-sized hook.

Now if the rain would only allow us to try it. The jester crowns had returned and were even thicker. They had begun flowing together carrying paper, twigs and leaves along with them. "How long can we wait here?" I was referring to how long our auxiliary battery could sustain life. We'd left our fridge turned on.

"I'm going back out there," John's words were brave. He emptied his pockets, gave me his watch and ran for the van. Running, of course, was merely instinctive; it hardly mattered whether he ran or casually strolled when he was going to be standing in the deluge anyway. Finally he yelled the words I had been waiting for. "I got it." With swift hands he lifted the handle, flung open the door and dove in. My entry into the van wasn't nearly as hurried. With the opening of the door, the sun had appeared.

John's voice was casual; no suggestion in it that rivulets of water were draining down his ears or that his shirt was pasted like a postage stamp to his back. "Wanna get some bread?"