Apparently you can't tell 50,000 Facebook followers about getting locked in the garage without providing the back story, so here goes:
A few years ago I received a silver key ring for making the best seller list. I love this key ring, A) because of what it symbolizes and, B) shiny! However, not long after I started using it, I learned that it's quirky. You see, one of the silver balls screws off and that's how you add and remove keys. Unless you're blessed with a patented GI Joe Kung-Fu grip, the ball will occasionally loosen. The more times you toss your key ring in your bag, the looser it gets.
So, about once a month I have to remember to tighten the ball or all my keys will fall off and drown in the sea of lipstick, cough drops, antique Kleenex, and free range antacids rolling around the bottom of my bag, thus defeating the entire purpose of the key ring, shiny though it may be.
Last weekend my friend Joanna and I went to the opera. She found a hotel downtown for less than a hundred bucks a night, so we decided we'd stay instead of waiting in the cold for a half an hour for the opera valet or taking the late train home.
(The train is fine at that time of night; the Chicago train station, however, freaks me the hell out.)
(Truly I am suburban now.)
(Also? The Magic Flute? With no murders, torrid affairs, OR swordfights? Come on. The production was fabulous, but going forward, I prefer my opera PG-13, at a minimum.)
ANYWAY, being the hyper-paranoid douchebag that I am, I don't ever give my house key to the valet because I saw an episode of Fastlane once where Jamie Pressley was a high end thief who worked for a valet service and, using the house key, would steal jewels and art while the car owner was at dinner. Mind you, I have no jewels or art, so I'm afraid these high end thieves would take my dogs out of spite and they wouldn't know when to give Maisy her heartburn medicine.
Point?
I forgot to remove the key from the ring before I got into the car, so I had to do it en route. I was able to secure the ball back on without incident, but as I had one hand on the wheel, I didn't get it very tight.
When I arrived home on Sunday, I forgot to reattach my car key to the ring. Then, I used Fletch's car all week because it's more gas-efficient.
Okay. That's a lie.
I usually opt for Fletch's car because I'm lazy. You see, you don't have to use the key to unlock or start it. All you have to do is have the fob on your person somewhere, which is the greatest post-manicure feature in the world and which means I never have to dig it out from the swamp of wrappers and receipts and spent Starbucks gift cards that I lug around every day. Because I only went out when he was home, I never had to reach for my house key because the garage door was unlocked.
(By the way, I'm providing this granular level of detail to prove to Fletch that I am not, in fact, a dingbat and this could have happened to anyone.)
So. Yesterday. I had to drop some stuff off so I took my car because it's bigger. While I was driving I made a mental note that I had to tighten the stupid ball but never quite got to it. I was in and out of the car a few times and eventually, my car key slid off the ring completely, not a big deal because it happens all the damn time.
When I arrived home and pulled into the garage, Fletch's car was gone, meaning I'd have to unlock the garage door myself. I dug around in my bag for the key and kept coming up with handfuls of stuff such as three pair of Wayfarers, two chewy granola bars, a sewing kit, my lucky yellow binder clip, a variety of products from the Apple Corporation, and portable versions of the Declaration of Independence and U.S. Constitution. (Hey, sometimes a gal wants to check on the 18 enumerated powers on the go.)
After much pawing, I finally dumped out my bag and noticed that both the silver ball and the key were missing, and... then I had a small temper tantrum and threw my purse across the garage, not realizing my car key was still inside, ergo locking myself in the garage and out of my car and precipitating an unpleasant Easter egg hunt.
Eventually I found my car key, which was nice but not necessary because for reasons too stupid to explain (yes, even I have my limits) we have a couch in there. But the car was warmer, so I climbed in and started calling people. Fletch was in the middle of an errand and couldn't get home for about 45 minutes, so I dialed my friend Angie. While we were on the phone, I noticed that we had raccoon paw prints on the wall, leading from where the top of the window slid open last week to a shelf and down to Fletch's workbench, all of which neatly explains what I've been hearing in the attic. I told her I was relieved to scratch "ghosts" off my possible list of explanations. Then Angie asked me how I ever made to to adulthood and I replied that I didn't know.
Within the hour, Fletch came home and all is well, except that I still don't have a way to let myself into the house. He was worried that we'd have to change the locks but considering I lost the key somewhere between here and the Mag Mile, I suspect whomever finds it will have to spend many years trying locks before he or she hits upon this particular house. What's a shame is that the valet didn't steal my key because at least I know where to find him.
Now what's puzzling is when I was changing into my jammies last night, something fell out of my shirt. I thought I lost an earring, but instead it was the errant silver ball that caps the keyring.
WTF??
Then I poked around in my bra to see if I somehow lost the key in there (like when I find popcorn after going to the movies) but no luck.
In summary?
I lost a key but gained a raccoon.
And THAT is why Fletch wants to buy me a helmet for Christmas.
