At Least We Didn’t Drop the Keys Into Molten Lava

On the day that Mathgeek gets into MIT, IP and I display our own brilliance by locking ourselves out of our apartment. We both have a set of keys, and of course we both neglected to bring them along when we did our weekly grocery shopping. With a combined six degrees between us, you’d think that we’d be smart enough to check if either one of us have our apartment keys on us. You’d be wrong!

The day broke down like this: in the afternoon, IP and I hit the gym. The gym requires the pocketing of keys as the gym key card is on each of our rings. After the gym, IP and I got ready for the store, bantering about how long it takes me to get ready (not because I’m concerned about how my hair looks, mind you; I was actually watching the affirmative action debate unfold at MIT’s discussion board at College Confidential, wherein bitter white males who thought they deserved everything in life believed that MIT’s admission procedure was screwed, and accused MIT of racism; to be racist with oomph, though, you have to hold the power and privilege, so the only people who are being racist are the entitled white males who didn’t get into MIT by assuming that all URM, white females and female URMs were decidedly less qualified to attend — I digress, though). As a rule, I usually ask IP if he has his keys. Yesterday I did not, for I assumed that he had them. I assumed that I had mine; after all, I was sure that I had put them in my pocket.

After a run to Target to buy new bath mats (another story), a trip to Baja Fresh (where the girl at the counter already knew our order because we go there so much), and a trip to the grocery store (where the checkout lady named Brenda snapped at me because I called her on ringing up my masa three times), we headed home. As we pulled into a spot in front of our building, I ran a hand into my purse and asked IP to give me his keys; it seems I had left mine behind. Getting out of the car and heading towards the trunk, I waited as IP dug around in his pockets. He looked at me, semi-shocked and worry growing in his eyes. “I seem to have forgotten mine also,” he said.

Cue head-desk (had there been a desk around, that is; they were safely locked away in our inaccessible apartment). What followed was an exploration of our options: 1) call our landlord — a quick scan of my phone’s contact list told me he wasn’t in there; 2) attempt to use the old credit card trick to open the door (which I have been successful at before); 3) call a locksmith. We were also under the hopeful delusion that our door wasn’t fully closed — it’s a door that never closes on its own and requires a hearty tug. With all that we had forgotten, perhaps we hadn’t closed the door fully. While IP waited at one door for someone to come out of the building so that we could try the apartment door, I waited at another. While waiting, I flipped open my phone again, scanning the contacts once more and realizing that I did indeed have our landlord’s phone number in my phone. IP appeared shortly thereafter, tired of waiting in the rain; after an attempt to get our neighbor’s attention and calling his apartment (he didn’t answer), another neighbor (who sort of hates us, by the way), came outside and let us in. Racing up to our apartment, we tried the door (locked) and attempted the credit card trick (impossible to do given the angle of the trim on the door). Reaching our final option, we flipped open the phone and called our landlord.

Our landlord’s wife answered, and she was very sweet and helpful; she gave us directions to their place, which fortunately was less than five minutes away from our apartment. Upon arriving, she joked that she had done it herself before. We secured the master set of keys and headed to the car, where we saw our landlord pulling up behind IP’s car. When seeing us, he stopped dead in his tracks and asked what was wrong, but IP explained that it was nothing more than a stupid lockout (this landlord’s pretty involved in the maintenance of the apartment, so we’re lucky; however, I think we nearly gave him a heart attack last night). We promised to return the keys today.

When we finally arrived at home and unloaded our previously purchased goods, it was nearly 10pm. Upon entry into the apartment, we saw both of our sets of keys sitting closely together, looking innocent and cute. I should’ve taken a picture. We agreed to never leave the house without double-checking that we had our keys and contemplated hiding places for an extra set should we ever do this again. We also came to the conclusion that the gym routine had messed us up; we associated pocketing the keys for the gym with pocketing the keys for the grocery store. At the end of the night, IP and I both sat down at the dining room table, beers in front of us, and soothed our harried souls with some Paul & Storm and Jonathan Coulton. Not getting into bed until 1am, we woke up at 10:30am, ready to start the day, which actually includes quite a bit (laundry, returning the keys, going to the gym, giving a call to Mathgeek, etc.).

The adventures of IP and WordNerd. Stirring, isn’t it? I guess this is a post where knowledge decidedly left off (hint: look at the categories of the blog).