how I learned to stop worrying and love the good people at A-1 Affordable Locksmith
One night this week I went out with the charming and erudite Jessie Forman, for a pint or two at Michaelangelo's. (Motto: We Have Many Kinds Of Beer But The Servers Are Elusive and Please Don't Think About The Unfortunate Lives Of These Couches)
Later that evening, returning to Kathleen's abode flushed with artistic genius* and (apparently) superhuman strength, the key twisted off in the lock. I shook my tiny fist at the heavens and cursed vehemently, before slinking off to spend the night under the Centre Street Bridge drinking Boone's from a paper bag.
The next day at work I called the A-1 Affordable Locksmithing company, to whine about how God hates me. We had a rather pessimistic conversation about which house did or did not belong to whom, and fate, and the projected starvation curve of the domestic housecat. Until we verbally stumbled across the fact that I have both halves of the key. And that this meant a copy might be made.
So I hopped in my rental car*, newly provided by my insurance, and rushed over there. They took both halves of the key into the back, did whatever it is they do to keys, (I only heard "klattu barada nicto"), and came back with a few versions of a new key that would hopefully provide salvation. And all for $4.80.
Success!
*Sometimes people, when drunk, talk of vacations they will never actually take or old friends they will never get in touch with. Jessie and I plan massive art events that we will probably never fill out AFA proposals for.
*My rental car is pretty sweet, but smells like they gave the interior a good spritz with Old Spice. Seriously, it smells like a suave, sexy, older man. Like driving inside of a CEO. What's up with that, Enterprise Rent-A-Car?
Later that evening, returning to Kathleen's abode flushed with artistic genius* and (apparently) superhuman strength, the key twisted off in the lock. I shook my tiny fist at the heavens and cursed vehemently, before slinking off to spend the night under the Centre Street Bridge drinking Boone's from a paper bag.
The next day at work I called the A-1 Affordable Locksmithing company, to whine about how God hates me. We had a rather pessimistic conversation about which house did or did not belong to whom, and fate, and the projected starvation curve of the domestic housecat. Until we verbally stumbled across the fact that I have both halves of the key. And that this meant a copy might be made.
So I hopped in my rental car*, newly provided by my insurance, and rushed over there. They took both halves of the key into the back, did whatever it is they do to keys, (I only heard "klattu barada nicto"), and came back with a few versions of a new key that would hopefully provide salvation. And all for $4.80.
Success!
*Sometimes people, when drunk, talk of vacations they will never actually take or old friends they will never get in touch with. Jessie and I plan massive art events that we will probably never fill out AFA proposals for.
*My rental car is pretty sweet, but smells like they gave the interior a good spritz with Old Spice. Seriously, it smells like a suave, sexy, older man. Like driving inside of a CEO. What's up with that, Enterprise Rent-A-Car?
posted by Idoru at 11:39 PM
1 Comments:
Mmmmm suave sexy older man.
Ironic though how you're riding IN him not ON him...
sorry I had to..the door was open.
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