My relationship with keys is complicated at best. We don't always get along. I don't always treat them well. They're almost like a lover that I need more than I love. I use them, but forget them, mistreat them and then come screaming back when I need them. I think, sometimes I just need to live in a tree house that doesn't require keys and ride a bus. I'm not good with keys.
I was reminded of this this week as I pulled a whopper... even for me. I'm working late in my office because my hours have been sketchy with the kids getting sick, juggling the kid schedule in the divorce and with Mike traveling. I have a master key to get into the various rooms and my office at work. And it's on the same keychain that my car keys and house keys are on. So I'm proud of myself for rolling through a shitload of work, but I'm tired. Keys and I hit that bump in our relationship when I'm tired. Or distracted (which is often). I'm locking up my office when I see one file sitting on my desk and decide that my OCD will not let it sit there. I'm gonna return it to the file room dammit, like the good little girl who wants her A's and gold stars. I have already, however, locked the file room.
So what do I do? I open the room, TAKE THE KEYS IN WITH ME AND SET THEM DOWN and put the file away. Now, anyone who knows me well KNOWS that setting them down is the kiss of death. I have a poor memory and am easily distracted. I always have too many balls in the air and more than one person has wondered if I'm ADD or ADHD. So I put the file away and close the door. And as I hear the door click, I have that sickening feeling. Oh god. The keys are still in there.
I start to think I'll walk home, but remember I can't get into my apartment now. My spare apartment keys? Yep, IN my apartment. I figure I'll drive to Mike's... oh wait, he has my spare keys to my car. I call my boss who lives super close. No answer. My other boss. No answer. Our Admin Assistant... she's been drinking. oooooookay.
My brain finally engages and I call Mike and ask him to bring my spare car keys and remember that my apartment has an emergency line. The maintenance guy lives RIGHT by me and agrees to let me in. Mike brings me my keys. Whew!
As I get to my place I begin laughing. I should not have keys. The last whopper was the dumpster incident.
I'm sorry, you're thinking, did she say dumpster? Yep. You got it. One morning, at my previous job before I had kids, I get to work early because I'm insane and I LOVE being at the office before everyone else. This is my favorite time to work. But, like the distracted, impatient, I can do it all freak that I am... I'm carrying too much, thinking about too much and as I'm walking toward our side door, I decide to throw something into the recycle dumpster instead of the recycling can I have AT MY DESK inside. But I have a bag on my shoulder, a coat over my arm (why wear it?), the cardboard in one hand and my keys in the other. And as I let go of what was in my hand into the dumpster... I realize I've thrown with the wrong hand. I look and I still have the cardboard just as I hear the CLATTER of my keys going in. Fuck me.
I'm in a shorter skirt and heels. Of course. I realize, thankful only slightly that it's at least the recycling and not the trash, that I'm going to have to dumpster dive. In a skirt. And heels. I set all my shit down and take a quick look around to make sure there's no one around. I hike myself up to the edge of the bin using my arms like a gymnast and now have my hips resting on the side of the dumpster like a gymnast would have hers resting on the bottom of the uneven parallel bars. I swivel my body downward so now my HEAD is in the dumpster and my feet are sticking way up in the air and I'm just praying my skirt isn't totally flipped up. I brace myself with one arm in that position and find the keys with the other and flip back down to the ground.
I should not have keys.
Ask my mother. While one of my best "losing keys" moments resulted in a beautiful serenade by two gentleman of Billy Joel's "The Longest Time"... mom was NOT happy. Lori (my twin) and I hung out with these two guys Curtis and David one night at Denny's (where high schoolers hang out late because we don't drink and it's open all night). It's well past midnight when they walk us to our car and we realize the keys are INSIDE. Yep, I've locked them in there. Totally me. I'll own it.
Now, Lori and I go to school out of district. So this is a good 30 minute drive from our house, we have no curfew and mom is likely asleep. But now we have to call her. So we call mom who is WAY pissed off and while we wait for her to bring the keys, Curtis and David do an AMAZING rendition of "The Longest Time." I'm not kidding. They harmonize beautifully, they're snapping their fingers. It's gorgeous. This moment will forever live in my memory as one of my favorites.
Cue squealing tires. Mom (I'm not kidding, her tires are squealing. You DO NOT want to piss this woman off) ROARS into the parking lot, rolling down her window, DOES NOT STOP HER CAR and CHUCKS, the keys at me and peels away, tires still squealing. Now this is a funny moment, kids. I know I'm in deep shit, I know she's pissed... but it's past1:00 a.m. now and there is something hysterical about your own mother driving like a stock car racer and CHUCKING your keys at you. Lori and I are dying and Curtis and David look like they're not sure whether to duck and hide or laugh with us. They know my mom. They know not to piss her off. I still cannot hear that song without thinking of that night.
My relationship with keys is so bad, kids, that the AAA guys began to know me in high school because of the number of times I lost my keys at the mall. Always in the bathroom. I always hung them on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. If I can see them HANGING IN FRONT OF MY FACE, I won't forget them, right? Wrong. I told you, I'm easily distracted. I have an amazing imagination. By the time I would leave the bathroom my head was in Never Never Land and I didn't see my keys. It's like the file room, once I set something down, it's furniture. I forget.
My sister took to always taking the keys from me. My mom got me this little "credit card" thing that had a punch out of my car key so I would have it in my wallet. Which works until I set down my purse.
I should not have keys.
But folks, there's always a silver lining. Always. I have one great key story that has resulted in a lovely, lifelong friend.
One night, after a football game, Lori decides she will hang out with her buddy Cathy and I'll take the car home. So we put all our stuff in the car and I HAND THE KEYS TO HER. There is much chatting and everyone lingers for a while. I end up chatting with this guy who is now in college, but who was a senior when I was a freshman. Nice guy. Will. Will Shilling. Always kinda wanted to meet him, so I'm totally distracted by how smart and funny and fun he is to talk to. Because, he kinda had a reputation. He was an athlete and a rumored "player," but really, he's just fun to talk to. Oh and he's cute. Way cute. So combine cute, funny, fun and smart and this is a worthwhile conversation. Lori and Cathy finally decide to bug out and drive off. I turn to my car. Lori has the keys. This is super. I stand there. Dumbfounded. What was I thinking? Why did I hand the keys to Lori when I needed the car. Now, kids, there are no cell phones in 1990. I can't just whip out my phone and text mom. Shit!!
I turn to Will and he is utterly amused. He's looking at me like he doesn't know whether to feel sorry for me or just leave. But he takes me to a phone booth and we call my mom. Again, we don't go to school close, so now we have to wait for my mom. We sit in his car and chat. I can't tell you what we talked about. I just know I laughed. A lot. Mom finally comes and gives me my keys without chucking them this time (and with a raised eyebrow because she sees Will) and I get home. Will and I date briefly, but we really make better friends. We lost touch for many years. We're in touch again now and he's truly one of those rare birds. A friend I'm thankful for. A unique human who makes the world a more interesting place. We laughed when we reconnected about how we met. Me and my damn keys. We check on each other now and then.
I guess maybe I should be thankful for my stupid key issues. I had a great serenade once. I got to use my gymnastics skills. I met the really sweet maintenance guy at my apartment, who nicely gave me a fatherly lecture about keeping my spare keys on my person instead of in my apartment. And I met a really cool friend.
Okay, maybe I should have keys. Who knows what will happen next? I'll let you know when I misplace them again. Which will likely be soon...
