I have a real issue with keys. In
fact, the key to many of my issues is my
keys. And “issue,” as we know, is the politically correct term with which
we seem to have replaced the word “problem” these days. So I’ll just say it
like it is: I have a real problem with keys. I can’t find my keys, I lock my keys in the car and I lock my keys in
the car with the car running.
About the only thing I don’t seem
able to do with keys is find them on the first try or without panicky rampages
through my home and purse. It also seems that I require far too many
self-administered pat-downs and am troubled by the fear that one day I'll enjoy
the pat-downs and will resort to losing my keys on purpose so that I can
justify another.
Last week I was with my son, Jon at
the store. As we were leaving, I reached into my coat pocket for my keys and
there was nothing there except my store receipt, three Chap Sticks and a puff
of lint that didn’t even match anything that would have come from my coat.
“Huh, that’s weird,” I said. “They
should be right here.” I checked my other coat pocket, came up empty, then
dumped out the contents of my purse. Still I couldn’t find the keys. I peeked
into the car to make sure they weren’t hanging from the ignition, but
no.
We walked back into the store and sat at the now
closed-for-the-evening sandwich shop located near the store entrance. I did
what women have done dating back to when we'd misplace our pelt-scrapers and
dumped the purse out again. The same keys not in the purse before were not in
the purse again.
“I’ll just call AAA,” I told my son.
“At least this store is open all night, so we won’t have to wait out in the
cold.”
No sooner had those words come out
of my mouth than an announcement came over the public address. “Attention
shoppers, the store will be closing in 15 minutes . . .” Of course it was.
Sighing heavily, I called AAA where
the customer service reps actually manage to sound sorry that you’re one step
closer to exhausting all your service calls and will soon have to purchase
additional coverage. The rep told me that a truck would be there to assist
within 50 minutes. I explained to him that I had a child with me and that the
store where we were waiting was about to close, so he expedited my call. Now
the driver would be there in . . . 50 minutes.
About a half-hour later, a truck
pulled up and the driver rammed and jammed his way into my car. Once inside, I
sweated bullets until I found the spare keys I was praying were in my satchel
in the back seat. I tipped the driver with my last three bucks and drove home
with my son, profoundly grateful.
When we got home, Jon and I shook
off our coats, laughing about the whole thing. AAA actually was wonderful and
the driver very nice. When my coat came off, I did what I often do when I’m
standing up and have pockets; I shoved my hands into them – and pulled out my
lost keys. I had forgotten that under my coat I was wearing a velour zip-up
jacket with tiny little pockets on each side. If I hadn’t forgotten I had those
pockets, I like to think I would have checked them. Unfortunately, this kind of
thing is, as they say, “just like me.”
Losing my keys always makes me think
of a friend's father whose stock comment any time someone misplaces keys is:
"If they were up your nose, you'd know where they are." But, of
course, he doesn't say "nose."
And speaking of "noses,"
last year my ex-husband was in town on business and suggested that the kids and
I meet him for dinner. So I took the kids and there we all sat over a long,
leisurely dinner, followed by dessert, talking, coffee and more talking.
When the kids and I walked to the
car after dinner and it was running, my first thought was that my invisible
chauffeur had started the car and was waiting in there for us. Then I
remembered that I don't have an invisible chauffeur because I can't afford one.
Then it dawned on me that I had left the keys in the car and that the engine
had been running - for nearly ninety minutes.
Because he knows my history with
cars and keys, my ex-husband vibrated with suppressed laughter. But he managed
to hold himself together long enough to say he'd stick around until AAA sent
someone out.
We traipsed back into the restaurant
and sat on a bench, the kids next to me and my ex on the other side of the
kids. I got on the phone with AAA and as I talked to the rep, a beep alerted me
to an incoming text.
“Just a moment,” I said, “do you
mind holding? Someone just texted me.” I took the phone away from my ear and
checked the text. It read: “Ma’am, before we send a truck out, do you mind
confirming that you have the jackass coverage?” Puzzled, I looked up as my ex
leaned out so that I could see him past the kids – him and his phone and his
uncontained glee.
A couple of years ago, a boyfriend
and I were on our way out for the evening, and once again, I couldn’t seem to
get my hands on my keys. The kids were right there, too, so I made this
familiar announcement: “Hey everybody, listen up! I can’t find my keys!
Everybody help me find my keys!”
With that naiveté found only in men,
my boyfriend asked, “Why don’t you just keep them in your purse?”
“What are you, crazy?” I said. “Then
I’d never be able to find them!”
The next day, he emailed me a
cartoon of a mother kangaroo frantically pawing through her pouch and yelling,
“He’s got to be in here somewhere!"
Sadly I admit that I left the keys
in the car with it running two other times last year, and not just that evening
with my ex-husband. I like to think it’s because my mind is gifted and busy and
that this causes absent-mindedness. But I'm afraid it's actually something
closer to the opposite.
But that’s alright; I still like
myself. I’m me and that’s okay. And I provide a lot of enjoyment and a
justifiable sense of superiority to all those around me.
You can’t ask more from life than
that.
