I have a bad habit of unlocking the bolt lock on my studio's front door as I'm hoisting groceries or laundry inside with both arms, and then absentmindedly leaving my keys in the door's exterior lock mechanism.
The door swings shut and I carry on with my chores as if all is well. Most of the time it occurs to me what I've done, and I retrieve the keys without incident within a reasonable time period.
While we all know it takes a mere moment for something dastardly to happen, I've been fortunate in the past.
One time, a year or so ago, I got up in the morning, dressed to leave and couldn't find my keys. I thought of when I last used them and recalled that I'd brought groceries in late the night before. I checked the exterior and there they were!
I'd slept through the night with them danging there like a thief's morsel and thought, damn, a knife-wielding enemy could have come in and stabbed me to death in my sleep, or stolen my guitar or computer and slipped out like an expert cat burglar.
I could be dead or ripped off, or both!
That was the first and last time I pulled that stunt, but as I say I occasionally still let the door swing shut before remembering I've forgotten the damnable keys and retrieving them.
So it went this morning when I got up before the rest of my building's lazy dwellers and did my laundry. I thought I'd finally blown it big time.
I brought dried clothes into my studio, folded them and put them away, made some breakfast, read the news online, twiddled and twaddled at this and that, showered, dressed and....
No keys.
I checked the door and found nothing.
I searched high and low, even wondering whether I'd taken the keys into the shower stall with me. Maybe I set them inside the medicine cabinet as I brushed my teeth?
Maybe I flushed them down the fucking toilet!
I looked everywhere, finally surmising that I'd indeed left them in the lock and that this time I'd been burned by a bad neighbor or one of the mad men and women who occasionally sneak into the building and roam the hallways despite the ubiquitous NSA-worthy surveillance cameras that record everything that goes on around here.
(The mad don't care how often they're busted for this kind of behavior; that is why they are mad).
Unable to lock up, I went downstairs, certain that even as I dashed away from my studio momentarily to report the incident the criminal was watching, listening, and waiting for me make a false move.
Before going, I stared at my video camera sitting on its tripod in the corner.
Goodbye video camera!
I thought of my computer.
Goodbye Round Bend Press!
I thought of my guitar.
Oh well, I'm not very good anyway!
I thought of the lone bottle of beer in my fridge. I should drink it before the thief takes it, I thought. But I realized it was too early in the morning for beer (that is not always the case, but today it didn't sound good for some reason, likely because I'm still sick).
Everything I own was at the mercy of whomever had my keys. Someone had my keys and it wasn't me.
Downstairs, I told the morning clerk at the front desk of my suspicions.
Try to get something done around here on a Sunday. I wanted him to check the surveillance log for the past couple of hours. Thinking like a security pro myself, I figured we could nab the cruel bastard who pilfered my keys before he/she got away!
Nah, the clerk, a new guy I'd never seen before (maybe he did it!) said he wasn't authorized to check the surveillance log.
Only the mighty corporate managers could do that, and they don't work on Sundays for nobody, nohow.
(Unlike NSA's spies. Those guys apparently don't take any days off.)
I asked him if there were any extra keys around.
Nope he said, making it sound like he was saying, "You're fucked, I guess. Enjoy the rest of your day."
This is why I pay my rent here, I mumbled to myself. To be ignored like a leper.
A forgetful leper.
Razzed now, at wit's end, I returned to my studio. I dashed in expecting everything to be pilfered. Maybe I'd catch the thief in the act!
Nothing was missing. I felt lucky for a moment.
I scrounged around some more and found nothing. I needed to lock up and go. To the store in the very least. I had no food to eat for lunch and dinner.
I began throwing clothing into the air, including the newly cleaned laundry. Nothing like a set of keys fell out, though I earned a few pennies I didn't know I had.
Then I kicked the sandals I'd been wearing in the laundry room and the keys flopped to the floor. Somehow, they'd fallen out of the gym shorts I'd worn with the sandals and I hadn't noticed.
If you ever lose your keys be sure to check your shoes before you get all paranoid about things.
Save yourself the kind of trouble I go through every now and again.
TS
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