Tonight I arrived early to a ward meeting held in the community room of a North Philadelphia public housing complex. I called the candidate’s driver, and he said it would be at least another twenty minutes before he arrived. I spotted another campaign worker in the side view mirror and popped out of the car to talk to him.

So we waited, and finally a couple of cars pulled up - one with the candidate, another with two additional staffers. We went into the hall, where he was greeted warmly. He gave a speech that went on too long, and the political director kept frowning and tapping his watch. “We’re not going to make the next ward meeting,” he said.

Finally we got him out of there. I started rummaging through my purse when suddenly it struck me. “Oh shit. I locked my keys in the car,” I blurted out. I walked over to my car and looked; there they were, dangling from the ignition.

The candidate’s driver is an ex-cop, and he said he knew someone who could take care of it. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes,” he promised. I heard some loud popping noises. “What was that?” I said. Even though I knew.

“Gunshots,” he said. “Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon.” He got in the car with the candidate and drove away.

“Um, gunshots. Could you guys wait with me?” They grumbled a bit, but my good-natured co-workers stayed to keep me company. One of them found a slim jim in the trunk of his car, but it wouldn’t unlock my car. He made a call: “My brother says it won’t work on this model. You need a wedge.”

Seven or eight phone calls and almost two hours later, the driver’s friend showed up. We were expecting a mechanic with a tow truck, but the guy was actually a repo man and worked fast.

“Now go right home, and don’t get lost,” one co-worker chided me. “And don’t call us if you do.”

Now I’m home. Thank you, Jesus.