Long Story Short

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Car keys

I had quite a morning yesterday. Typically Wednesdays are flexible for me, schedule-wise. No, I can't come in at noon and leave at two, but a minor mishap in the morning simply results in a phone call to my office and some hearty laughter on the part of my coworkers.

However yesterday, due to the Monday holiday, became TUESDAY on my schedule. And two Tuesdays of every month I am REQUIRED to be at work at 8:30. Earlier if possible, for you see I have a presentation to give. At 8:30. By me. Only me. Translation: nobody else in my office could possibly replace me. I am THAT invaluable. I know. Lucky me.

I woke up yesterday a little more tired than I would have liked and decided to put on my favorite little jacket. I brushed my hair (I note this because it does not happen every morning), put on necklace and earrings (again, not a given), and walked little Bailey.

With my cup of coffee in one hand, my giant embarrassing purse, and my badge for work, I started to head for the door. OH! Ha ha! Gotta grab my car keys!

Except...car keys? Um. Where...are...you?

A search that started out leisurely - brushing papers off the table by the door, looking at the couch and picking up a pillow, walking into the various other rooms...slowly became more panicked. I suddenly remembered the events of the evening before. Professor K had borrowed my car for two trips out to the store. And despite the fact that he has his very own copy of the key to my car on his OWN keychain, he had borrowed my actual set of keys.

Once I realized that I thought, "This is bad". I had deduced that there was a very strong possibility that Professor K had taken both his own normal set of keys as well as MY set of keys to work with him. Eliminating all possible ways of driving my car to work from my house at that moment. Which was 8:00 A.M.

My search increased dramatically in fraticicity (heh) as I dumped out my purse, knocked everything off the coffee table, and ran screaming and yelling from room to room. Crazy person = me.

I hatched a plan which involved the only remaining spare key to my car - call my landlord. Unfortunately I could see clearly that his truck was gone from his driveway and I distinctly remembered him telling me that he kept our spare keys in that very truck. Dammit.

I'll call him! Geniously the only way I ever have access to my landlord's cell phone number is via my caller ID. So it pretty much requires him to call me on a regular basis, which he does not do. So after flipping through my caller ID and calling every 617 area code number on there (sorry everyone I called by mistake) I realized that he hadn't called us from his cell phone in over 90 calls. Whoops. Way to write that number down!

I ran next door to speak to the wife o' the landlord since I figured she'd have his phone number. Based on my bug eyed expression and psychotic rambling the wife seemed to grasp that this was important and immediately got her husband on the phone. And then she told me that he was in South Boston and couldn't possibly get back to the house with my car key for at least 45 minutes. But he was on his way!

Bad.

I went back to my sad little apartment where Bailey watched me apprehensively. I called work and explained the situation and they sounded put off by - seeing as my bad luck was about to fuck their days up too.

I followed that call up with a call to Professor K, who was sitting calmly at his desk at work with no knowledge of the panic he had created. After he sheepishly confirmed that yes, he did have both sets of keys in his coat pocket, I managed to start sobbing hysterically which was AWESOME and totally mature. I could tell he felt terrible but there was absolutely nothing he could do. It would have taken him far longer to leave work and take the T home than it would for my landlord to drive from South Boston back to the house.

After that I sat on the couch. Bailey kept eyeing me suspiciously � any time the daily schedule is disrupted she gets perplexed. I waited. I took my coat off. I put my coat back on. I sat. I turned on the TV. I zoned out. It was fun.

I got a phone call from my landlord which came much more quickly than I would have expected. He was less than ten minutes away! He must have been driving 100 miles per hour, which made me love him.

At that point I took my pile of work junk and went and stood on the deck. I knew exactly when he got close to the house by the squealing of tires and roaring of engine. He screeched to a halt outside the house, I ran and grabbed the keys from his outstretched hand, and he started laughing at me. �THANK YOU SO MUCH OH MY GOD THANK YOU!� I shouted at him as I ran to my car.

I got to work at about 9:15, which is pretty amazing. I found that my presentation had been stalled and that was awesome too. While waiting for my turn to speak I managed to tell several people my story of trial and tribulation to which they all responded, �He�s in the dog house�. Heh.

Really he wasn�t. It was an honest mistake and I knew he felt terrible about it already. I emailed him that I was safely at work and all was well and he responded with how sorry he was.

I told him I understood but that unfortunately I was still forced to punish him. And punish him I had! Just before I left the house to stand on the deck and wait for my landlord I had noticed the last two tiny Twix bars left over from Christmas. Professor K LOVES Twix bars and had eaten all of the other ones already. So I punished him by scooping up those last two Twix�s and putting them in my purse with the intention of giving them to one of my coworkers. HAHAHA! That really settled the score.

But then he sent me back another email and all it had was one small sad frowny face. And that little face just broke my heart. So last night I returned his two remaining Twix�s to him. Why punish someone for making a mistake?

11:11 a.m. - 2006-01-05

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