Note: I wrote this in April. And never posted it. I wanted to illustrate the post, but that’s probably too much work. So here it is. For another account, you can go here.
I have decided that maybe my life is a little too adventurous for me. I could probably do with a little less adventure. Nevertheless, all my adventures give me amusing stories with which I can regale others. Hopefully you are entertained.
I had an adventure of the first class. In other words–or just flipped around–I had a first class adventure. While it did not involve nefarious plots of murder and deception, it was still a little too exciting for me.
In short, I locked myself out of the house.
People lock themselves out of the house all the time. I don’t know why things like this become such a big deal for me. Probably because I’m so dramatic. But stories are more fun when told dramatically with great rollings of eyes and exasperated breaths. Since you’re reading this, you’ll have to imagine all the rolls and sighs.
While being driven to the airport by my friend, I was wondering where my keys were. I said to her, “You know, I haven’t seen my keys in a while. I wonder where they are.” She replied with her usual, “Uh-huh.” Depending on the tone, it could mean a great deal of things. She says it a lot to me. I have developed a great skill in interpreting her single “uh-huh.” This time it meant something along the lines of, “You probably should find out where your keys are. I think you might need them. Of course you would do something like not know where your keys are.”
When I travel, I tend to put my keys away because I know I won’t be using them. I’ll tuck them away in some pocket of my suitcase or in my bag that I’m not using. I wasn’t too worried because I figured they were on me somewhere.
Upon arrival at the airport, I forgot to look for my keys. Twice. Both times around. At the first airport and then at my layover. I guess I was too busy talking to the guy to remember. I remembered right as I was about to board in Dallas and stuck my hand in a couple pockets, didn’t find the keys and then figured they were somewhere else.
When I got picked up by my other friend (the sister of the person who dropped me off), I mentioned to her that I haven’t found my keys yet. I was beginning to think that I had left them on the coffee table of my Illinois friend’s house.
When we got to the house, I began to look for my keys. No keys. Not in my moustache bag. Not in my laptop bag. Not in the outer pockets of my suitcase. My friend suggested that I take all my belongings next to my car because if the key is close by, I can unlock my car. Maybe it was somewhere in my belongings and I just haven’t found them yet.
No luck. Not even when I plastered myself with my suitcase against my car.
Then we went back to her car and I pulled everything out of my suitcase. No keys. At this point I was getting frantic because it was getting late and my friend had work the next day and she has to get up early. Sleep is important to her as it is to me. I began to alternate between mewing piteously and frustrated growls.
My friend pulled out a flashlight and we walked around the back of the house to try to find a way in. And had some adventure-times trying to get in the house. It involved windows, screens, a saw, and a swimming pool pole net (you know, the kind you use to get all the leaves out of the pool… or dog hair, if you have a dog that likes to jump in the pool–I did). Those windows are unbelievably hard to open from the outside. I suppose that’s a good thing.
At this point I was convinced that I had left my keys on my friend’s coffee table. I was convinced that I remembered seeing them there. Which would have been a problem because I was planning to drive up to Norcal the next day. And I have no idea where my spare car key is. I know it’s packed away somewhere. But I have no idea where. And I wouldn’t have had a house key. I guess I would have had to lock myself inside and never go out until I could get her to mail the keys to me.
Finally, we were able to get in. I opened the front door, got my belongings, and we worked on putting the screens back in the windows. I saw her out the door, walked towards my bedroom, and lo and behold–my keys.
Right away I thought, “I am the smartest person in the world.” (That’s sarcasm, folks.)
I had gotten a ride from the airport by the owner of the house, so I didn’t have to lock up before I left (which is usually the only reason I remember that I need to have my keys on me). I guess I plumb forgot about them and didn’t even bring them with me. I suppose that’s better than leaving them on my friend’s coffee table.
But still. Seriously?
Good job, Sheri.