Around 1984, my soon-to-be Wife and I took a circular trip from San Francisco to Mt. Lassen, then down 395 on the east of the Sierras past Mono Lake to Mammoth, where my Brother lived. We did a combination of Car Camping and Hotels. We stopped in Reno for a Hotel Night.
Living in San Francisco, we ALWAYS lock our cars. No options there.
We pulled into the El Dorado Casino and Hotel in Reno and there was a line we had to wait in, as all parking (at that time) was valet. I let my sweetie out of the car to register at the hotel while I waited in the hot sun - no AC, and it was mid-August in Nevada.
I inched forward until a valet could handle me - “Please leave the keys in the ignition”. I did so and exited the car - locking it as I always would.
HORRORS! I’ve locked my keys in the car! The line BEHIND me was growing and there were now no other cars in front of me! I asked for a “Slim Jim” and got a blank stare.
They dispatched someone to find the ‘Security People’ and a guy returned, holding a Slim Jim - like a dead fish - in front of him. He came up to me and said, “I hope you know how to use this thing!” My brother was a tow-truck operator and I had some inkling of how it was done…so I tried.
…and people gathered around, scrutinizing my efforts (…was it hook to the left and pull to the right and up?). Finally, I unlocked the door to great applause.
My car was whisked down the ramp to the parking structure and I - sheepishly - went into the casino reception area where my honey had a drink in her hand, “What took you so long?”
I noticed a sign right behind her: “The El Dorado Welcomes the Auto Theft Investigators Association!” (I may have forgotten the exact outfit, but I think that was “Western States” - it may have been a National convention).
I bet there were hundreds of Slim Jim’s in the hotel and dozens of experts that could have cracked my car in an instant.
The Car: 1977 Datsun B210
The Irony: Priceless