The Key Thing Is, I’m Not Senile

Today was chore day. I replaced a light bulb in a ceiling light. I researched 529 account reimbursements. I made two trips to the hardware store for a toilet repair that didn’t take. I ordered the proper toilet part online. I went to Home Despot for weed whacker twine. I repaired my Carradice Burley saddle bag.

When I got home I locked the car and put my purchases away. Then I realized that the key that I used to lock the car was not in my pocket. It was nowhere. I retraced my steps. Again. And again. And again. No keys.

I asked my wife and daughter where the spare key was. It was with our son. In Thailand. I am not making this up.

I searched the target area like I was looking for a downed aircraft at sea. No luck.

Finally, I decided the key had to still be in the car. I called a locksmith. He came withing the hour. He pried a gap in the door. Then he inserted a bladder and inflated it. This created enough space for him to insert his magic door opening tool. He had the door opened in two minutes.

I looked through the car. High and low. No key. And the alarm went off. We’re havin’ fun now.

After five minutes which seemed like an eternity, the alarm stopped.

I retraced my steps. On my hands and knees. No key.

I opened the car door to do another search. The alarm went off again. F meeee!

The last time I felt this bewildered about a car was when my car was stolen from a dirt parking lot near L’Enfant Plaza where I used to work. (The lot is now filled with expensive town homes.)  Did I park it somewhere else in the lot? Did I leave the door opened? Was I losing my mind?

Nope. My car was swiped.

Over the next few days I looked for it. I rode my bike through the parking lots at National Airport, the perfect place to drop a hot car. No luck.

The car finally showed up in a townhouse development in Franconia VA.

Nothing makes you fell like your mind is broken than something utterly unexpected happening. Like losing  your keys. Or having your car stolen. Or, not to be too morbid, when someone you know dies for some completely random reason.

I have contacted my son to send us his car key. Tomorrow, weather permitting, I am renting a metal detector. I am not losing my mind.




My wife came home and did another search. She found the damned key.

She asked me “Where do Alzheimer’s patients lose their keys?” The answer is in the freezer.

She pointed to our refrigerator. I opened the door and there was the key.

I laughed my ass off.

Then, she told me she actually found the key in the grass near the front door to the house.

I’ve been punked.

But I’m so glad we found the key.



2 thoughts on “The Key Thing Is, I’m Not Senile

  1. Your wife is a funny lady. I had that sinking feeling this summer when some punk did steal my car, that is what I get for owning a 98 civic 4 door which is the starter car at thief school, the erstwhile Seattle law enforcement got it back, yeah! I only had to pay $250 for the privilege of retrieving it from an impound lot, boo! Upon getting it back I went to the auto parts store and got the “club”. Might as well make it harder for them next time.

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