Land Of The Lost

November 20, 2009 at 4:31 PM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
  I called Peggy, a girl I work with, at 610 this morning.  No answer.  I left a message:  "Hey, Peggy, here’s a chance for you to regain your status as one of my BFFs.  Give me a call."
  Well, she did call, about 730.  By then it was too late.  She was already at work, and I needed her here because she lives nearby.
  I called Bunny right after I called Peggy.  Bunny answered.  "Hey, when do you plan to leave for work?"  She said about 45 minutes.  That was a long time, but I could work with it.  "Cool.  Then you can pick me up on your way.  I need a ride to work."  I paused, not for dramatic effect but because I didn’t want to say it.  "I lost my keys."
  While I waited, I continued to look.  Yes, mother-fuckers, I did look everywhere.  Detroit’s mom woke up to the commotion, and when it was clear what was going on, she did the most helpful thing she could do:  She began to ask a lot of annoying questions.  Like you are.  No, there is no spare.
  "Did you look in your coat?"
  Yes, I looked in my coat.
  "Did you look in your bag?
  Of course I looked in my goddamn bag.  My fucking shit bag of fucking shit is where I keep my fucking keys to fucking begin with, it’s where I go to fucking look for them before I begin to fucking look any fucking place else, for fucking fuck’s sake.
  "Where did you have them last?"
  Well, if I knew that, they wouldna be fucking lost now, would they?  Christ in a titty bar.
  She left me alone to look, which is what I wanted.  I didn’t say these things to her, but they were in my tone, I guess.
  I asked Alex if they took the car last night, hoping he still had the keys.  Nope.
  I searched everywhere I had searched before.  I found a remote.  I found some socks.  I getting desperate.  I was going to take the truck.  However, the car blocked the truck in the driveway.  No problem, I’ll just back and fill and drive around it.
  The only thing I can say that is a good thing is that I didn’t hit the car, or the garage.  I toyed briefly with the idea of gently pushing against the car and pushing it back a few feet so I could get around it.  Balls being the inverse of brains, I was smart enough not to try it.
  I went back in the house, and halfheartedly looked again.  I opened my bag all the way, taking stuff out of the middle.  No luck.  Shit.  Then I saw the package.
  We got new phones, btw.  Briefly, my phone wouldn’t work–it was a refurb–so they sent me a new phone.  I had to ship back the old one, so I just used this box because it was smaller than the one we had received all three phones in.  I packed everything into the box, taped it shut, and put the label on it.  And I did it on the couch, right next to where my bag was sitting on its side.  Did my keys somehow fall in the box?  Was I about to mail my car keys to Texas?  Shit.  I got a knife and opened the box.
  No keys.
  Carefully, I taped it back up.  I searched the box carefully, because if I’m going to retrace every step and re-search later everywhere I had searched already, I didn’t want to have to cut the box open again.  I want to put a check mark on it that means "Already looked here, quite thoroughly."  I’d put the same check mark on my man-sac, because I’ve already looked in there several times.  Check.
  Aarrrgh.  What the hell.  I gave up and flipped the TV on, figuring that in taking a break maybe something will come to me.  The one suggestion that Detroit’s mom had that had held the most promise didn’t pan out.  We had gone shopping last night for Thanksgiving, and some of the extra stuff we didn’t have room for I put in a tub and put in the garage for the time being.  Very likely, I had my keys in my hand when I did that.  No luck.  I had put all my hope in that basket, and it was empty.
  Quite some time had passed, and still no Bunny.  I called her, expecting to find that she was almost to work.  Then I would be two-for-two on the ride prospects.  No answer.  It was 730 and I was getting scared.  What had she said?  Forty-five minutes?
  She called back in a few minutes and said she would be leaving in five minutes.  Since I could translate, I knew I had time to take another shower and perhaps watch part of the Lord Of The Rings Trilogy.  Not the whole thing–there’s no need for senseless exaggeration.
  Bunny lives 5 minutes from me.  Close to 800, she shows up.  I get to work about 830, which is about 2 hours later than I usually do.  She says she just…can’t get going in the morning.  Hell, I roll out of bed into my pants, and I’m basically out the door, usually in no more than 15 minutes. 
  I get to work, and I get to my desk.  I turn on my computer, and while it’s booting up, my routine is to go through my bag.  I like to keep it from being cluttered.   I throw shit away, put papers in the side pocket, get my badge and my phone out, plug in my flash drive, and make sure I have my wallet.  There it is, there’s my wallet.  Good.  I want to keep track of shit; it’s bad enough I lost my keys.  I’m going to have to call a Mercedes dealership to find out what it takes and how much does it cost to get a key made, because even if I find mine I’m going to need a spare anyway. 
  Confirming the contents of my bag, I tilt it forward and my wallet shifts.  Behind it–
  Behind it was the familiar blue denim fabric of my keychain.

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