Pockets in bath towels for house keys sure would come in handy
By Burton W. Cole
The only person any of my locks have ever kept out of something has been me.
My bicycle lock certainly didn't stop a thief in college. He or she took my 10-speed AND the lock.
In junior high school, my locker padlock was swiped. Inside my locker, it looked like a tornado had gone three rounds with stampeding bulls — papers, books, coats, gloves and three months worth of lunch leftovers were strewn everywhere. Exactly like I left it. Not a thing was missing except the lock itself.
When, as a cub reporter, I locked my keys inside my car in a police parking lot, an officer whipped out a metal bar, slid it inside my car door and had it unlocked before I could finish dying of embarrassment.
He apologized for taking 1.7 seconds to spring my lock. He said police departments can't afford the high-tech bars that all self-respecting car thieves carry to get in a car in a third of the time.
I had trouble feeling pity. We car owners only get coat hangers and have to stand outside looking in, hoping a burglar would happen by.
The last time I locked my keys in the car, it was three hours before I could get my wife and kids out. We were getting worried. It was beginning to rain and the top of our convertible was down.
Sorry. I know that last paragraph was pretty lame, but I couldn't resist the cheap joke. Actually, we've never had a convertible. It was the windows we left down.
So when it comes to locks, I'm better off leaving things open, taking my chances that thieves will voluntarily stay out so that I can get in. That's what I resolved the last time I forgot my card key for the newspaper office and was shivering outside the locked doors at 5 a.m. hoping for either co-workers or burglars to come by.
Back in college, I stripped down to my towel one morning, dropped my key in my shaving kit, locked the dorm room behind me and headed or the shower room.
I had forgotten the shaving kit.
We could borrow spare keys from the quad office. It was on the other side of a very popular recreation center/snack shop/bowling alley/deli bar in the center of the quad.
Or we could bypass that by simply running outside, which, I suppose, wouldn't have been so bad had school been in session during the summer. Bare feet and sopping hair in a couple feet of snow and 10 degree temperatures was a real strong argument for parading through the inevitable hooting and cheering of the recreation center.
"I, uh, was afraid someone would steal my keys," I explained to the young woman upon whose counter I was dripping a few minutes I do not wish to remember later. "I was wondering if I could borrow the office key so I can go check on mine and make sure it's still safe. Perhaps I'll get a T-shirt while I'm there. And some underwear."
I learned not to lock myself out. Twice was quite enough, thank you.
Having learned the hard way, when my daughter was in elementary school, I impressed upon her the importance of always carrying a house key just in case something happens and we wouldn't be home to open the door for her.
She never had a problem with that. It was I who walked the 1.5 miles to her school.
"Hi," I said. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by to see how Melissa is doing."
The receptionist got on the intercom: "Missy Cole, your dad needs to borrow your house key — again."
At least I was wearing more than a sopping towel.
Lock up with Cole burton.w.cole@gmail.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or www.burtonwcole.com.