The shiny metallic lock feels weighty in my small hands. Examining it closely, I turn the padlock over in my small hands until it rests face up in my palms. In bold white letters, the small dial-lock is emblazoned with the words Master Lock.

I can’t believe it, I think. How can my father expect me to do something like this ? I am 12 years old, practically a teenager, and shortly after that an adult! He expects this simple, mind-numbing, foolish trinket to entertain me – I doubt it!

Angrily, I thrust the padlock onto the empty car seat beside me. I have nothing to do. For the next fourteen hours, my life is effectively ruined and I can only sit and watch the time melt into mile markers beside the road. Leaning my head up against the window I think, maybe I will die of boredom – is that even possible? I’m sure it has happened to someone before.

Meanwhile, the family station wagon is zooming down the highway at almost 65 miles per hour. The trees all appear to blur together, like a watercolor painting blown by a high-powered fan.

Almost 45 minutes have elapsed since we pulled out of the driveway and onto the open road. Slowly, I lift my head off the window and lower my eyes to the small lock still sitting beside me. Master Lock sits there, triumphantly. The closed loop above it somehow signifying its superiority of me. Maybe I can just try it a few times . Reaching down, my hands clasp around the cool metal and I place the padlock in my lap.

I turn the dial until the small arrow rests on the 30. Next, I crank the dial twice to the left and stop it on the 7. Finally, I give the lock a quick right turn to the 21. Lifting my hand to grasp the top of the lock I reach my fingers around the small loop and give a sharp tug. Nothing.

Well, I guess I’ll just have to try it again .

This time I try turning right to 12. Then I turn to the left twice till I land on 41. Now, right again till the dial rests on 5. I pull on the loop and nothing happens. Again.

This is so frustrating. Puzzles are the worst. They are even more unbearable than a 30-minute infomercial about super-absorbing dishrags!

Despite all my frustration, my hands are continuing to try different solutions to the puzzle.

1 – 37 – 25. Nothing.
6 – 18 – 33. Still nothing.
22 – 11 – 45. You guessed it, nothing.

I try this for almost five hours straight.

I guess the lock has beaten me, I think. Perhaps I just was not meant to solve it. Statistically speaking, the odds of finding the combination are one in a million. I have better chances if being struck by lightning.

Now I am drifting off to sleep, and my eyelids feel like sandbags. My hands mindlessly continue in their futile effort to solve the impossible. It’s almost like when you bounce your knee for a long while and then forget you're even doing it. However, you soon find that the knee has a mind of its own and has continued right on bouncing like before. I suppose this is what they mean by muscle memory.

While I sit fiddling with lock and thinking I hear a click. Glancing my eyes at the lock I realize that I just opened it.

“What!?!” I suddenly exclaim. “I can’t believe it, I opened the lock! Dad, I did it! The lock is open! You said I couldn’t solve it before the ride ended and I did solve it. I win!”

“Great job, Max.” My dad replies as he glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Now,” he pauses for just a moment before smiling and saying, “what was the combination?”

My smile disappears.