Shortly after we bought our house, the realtor called me at work and told me she had driven by and noticed the front door was wide open. She thought I might want to swing by and close it. She was going to, she said, but she was running late for work.
“You’ll want to close it though,” she repeated, “or else a dog or a squirrel might go in and leave a mess.”
That’s the small-town difference. No worries about burglars carrying things out of the house. Just head off the squirrels.
I can’t speak for the rest of the community, but in McAlester there wasn’t much need for locks on our doors back then. Probably naïve, but it turned out just fine – until we moved to the Big City.
The Monte Carlo was locked, but they got in and got out the AC/Delco radio anyway, and welcome to Tulsa! (Seriously, stealing a stock AM/FM?) There was the toolbox that was stolen from the garage, and later the boat propeller. There were others, too. Even an oversized houseplant set outside the front door during the comfortable springtime.
Needless to say, keys – which had not been so important early in my life – became a mainstay. Each time my trust took a hit, my key-count seemed to rise.
The picture is my current key ring. More of a key-monster than a ring. Caused a major hoo-doo when I tried to enter the County Courthouse and tossed that mess into the metal detector basket. Security was quizzing me on what this was for and what that was for, and how come you’re carrying all these, anyway?
The short answer is – I’ve misplaced keys often enough that I worry about losing them for good. If a stray set breaks off from the herd, it might never be recovered.
So I just keep them all together in one big jumble. Different key fobs let me know right away which is which. And I keep them in the same drawer location all day, every day at work.
Someone told me it was bad for the car’s ignition switch to have a heavy set of keys dangling, so I always remove the single car key from the jumble when driving. One to start the car, the rest in the passenger seat.
In my hand or in my line of sight. Can’t get lost that way.
I pulled the old van back into the parking spot after filling the gas tank yesterday and reached over for the key collection. Not there.
WHAT? WHERE?
Floorboard, stabbing, grabbing.
Realization: the van has a locking gas cap, and I’d taken the jumble out at QuikTrip, opened the filler spout and set the keys on top of the gas pump.
ALL THE KEYS TO MY LIFE ARE AT QT ON A GAS PUMP! YeeeeAAAAAH!
Foolishly, I reached into the passenger seat for the key ring so I could drive the Firebird back to the pumps. Get there quicker. Oh, yeah. That key is on the SAME RING!
For a big machine, that old van can still haul. As I got within a block or so, the Mantra began “let them still be there.” Let them still be There. Let them still BE THERE. LET THEM STILL BE THERE!!!
Whipped up to the pump and there they sat.
The sense of relief was unequalled in recent memory. (At least, by events not involving plumbing).
And what does all of this have to do with the Bookstore – Bistro?
(Here is where I would normally plug in all the Key-related puns and tie-ins. Advice about all-the-eggs-in-one-basket…)
Nah. Not-gonna-do-it. It’s enough to savor the fact that I got a parachute jump’s worth of adrenaline pumped through me and I didn’t even need to get on a plane.
Of course, there is that section of books about self-improvement, mental focus, and Keys to happiness.
Couldn’t resist it.
Come visit!
McHuston
Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!