Tale of the Lock, and It's a Shocker

The post is a little ahead of time this week--what, did Christmas come early? I guess you could say that, in a manner of speaking. I seem to be plagued with lock problems, not only when I travel (which is infrequent), but even in my very own home. Right now I'm sitting up with my door barricaded, waiting for daylight, with plans to have my lock changed tomorrow. Having lost my keys in Starbucks a couple of years ago and subsequently having every lock in my possession changed, I thought I was finished with  lock problems. Well, no.

Unfortunately, and strangely, I think my current problem stems from a professional event I attended a couple of years ago, a small gathering of librarians at someone's home. Actually, it was a Christmas party, probably nearly two years ago to the day. This wasn't a wild event, but actually rather sedate, or so I thought. I brought a cake, chatted, and ate some crackers and veggies. I couldn't help but notice when I went to get my coat and go home, though, that my purse was in a different place than I had left it, tucked well under my coat. It was sitting rather prominently on top of my coat when I got ready to leave, not at all where I had left it.

I had been concerned enough about the purse incident (and a missing cell phone, which I had thought was in my purse when I went to the party) to temporarily disable my cell phone service, call my credit card companies, and actually have one credit card replaced. I mentioned my concern that someone may have accessed my keys to the building manager but decided that I was possibly being too paranoid. After all, a group of librarians, right? (many of whom I knew). Maybe the coats just got rearranged as everyone was leaving. Maybe I had left my cell phone somewhere else prior to going to the party (it later showed up).

Sadly, rumor has reached me of shenanigans at that party (always trust your instincts). I even have names, and while it surprises me, it doesn't surprise me, in a way. Why was the vendor rep in attendance (who was never very friendly when I still worked at the law library) so surprisingly chatty that night? She asked a million questions about my dissertation and stuck to me like glue. I had trouble believing she was really that interested, but sometimes people do act differently at social events than they would at work. Why did the male librarian lurking in the bathroom look so strangely at me when I passed him on the way to get my things and go home? Why did the hostess make an arch remark about goings-on at her party (yet insist later that I must have dropped the cell phone before arriving at her house). My keys were in my purse, but how long does it take to run to a convenience store and have copies made? Plenty of time for someone to do it while one is distracted, that's for sure.

I'm used to strange goings-on, as life has definitely taken an odd turn over the last few years, but I was innocent enough to believe that I was safe at small holiday party with people I knew. The truth is, you're not safe anywhere.

My landlord has been notified both by voice mail and email that the lock needs to be changed ASAP. I will now ask those of you who are no doubt quite snug in your own homes whether there is any good outcome you can possibly think of to stealing someone's keys, either for them or for you. It's a crime, you know--and not a small one. It would make you an accessory if a bigger crime were to occur later, say, someone getting killed by an intruder who happened to have an unauthorized key. That's the kind of thing that can come back to haunt you in a big way (and undoubtedly will). What goes around, always comes around. It's just a fact of nature.

By the way, Merry Christmas . . . and don't let the screen door hit you on the way out. And remember, in a world where things like this take place, no one is safe. Not even you. Someone has been attempting to log into my account as I've been writing, which means that someone must also have my email password. That's funny, I'm always changing it, and it's a rather unwieldy one, not anything someone would be likely to guess. How did that happen, I wonder?

Practical Jokes from the Universe

Yesterday was really pretty nice. I woke up to the sound of rain and distant thunder, and it felt so cozy that I stayed in bed listening until I fell asleep again and woke up rested an hour or so later. The rest was a typical Saturday: yoga, lunch, writing, and shopping for chocolate and groceries. I even got a pedicure at the little nail spa run by that nice family and emerged with shiny toenails in a lovely shade that one of the little girls picked out for me. I was feeling pretty good after all that.

So I have no explanation for what happened today. I was planning to get some things done at home and then go to a movie, but it didn't turn out like that. It all started when I decided to wash a couple of loads of laundry. I had taken one load to the laundry room and was on my way back for the second one when I put out my hand to type in the security code on the front door and suddenly could not remember it. I have been typing this code in every day for 10 years, usually without thinking about it, but suddenly it was just gone. I could remember the first digit and the last but not the middle part.

This had happened once or twice before but not in a long time. I thought at first that it would come back to me if I waited a minute or so, but it didn't. I typed in what I thought was the right code several times, to no avail. Then I became convinced that I was just off by a single digit, so I tried various combinations without getting anywhere. Fifteen minutes went by and I was still locked out, so I decided to go back to the laundry room, wait for the washer to stop, and put the clothes in the dryer. Not thinking about it for a few minutes would almost certainly make the code come back to me, or so I thought.

I did all this and came back, but I still couldn't remember. By now, I was feeling less and less certain I knew what it was. I thought of ringing a neighbor's doorbell and just saying I'd forgotten it, but aside from feeling silly I was also reluctant to disturb someone on Sunday morning. After another frustrating quarter hour or so, someone came by and I followed them in. I was now back in my apartment but still had no clue, so I felt almost as trapped inside as I had outside. I knew I had the code written on a piece of paper at one time, but after searching the kitchen drawer, I had to admit that the piece of paper was probably long gone.

I decided to wedge something in the side door so I could go out and come back, praying that no one would remove it before I had a chance to throw my second load in. I finally ate a late breakfast, then went over to put my load in the dryer. I was so rattled that I didn't realize until I closed the dryer door that I didn't know where my quarters were. I thought I had the little envelope in my hand when I went to the laundry room, but they were nowhere in sight. I went back to my apartment and looked all over.

Now I was missing the means to get into my building as well as the means to dry a sopping wet load of sheets and towels. It wasn't quite as bad as the Fellowship of the Ring trying to figure out the password to get into Moria (no sinister gurgling lake at my back or ravening wolves), but there is something disquieting about being locked out of your home. I started to feel strange hanging around the entrance, as if I shouldn't be there. The only bright spot was that I kept noticing my pedicure and thinking that at least my nails looked great. 

I went back to the laundry room to hunt around for those darn quarters. If I could at least get the dryer going, that would be something . . . and sure enough, this time, I started moving things in the dryer and found the folded envelope at the bottom. I had thrown it in along with the load.

Having solved that mystery, I thought I would feel better if I took a shower and changed clothes. After that, the last load was dry, so I brought everything back, made up the bed, and put everything else away. It was now mid-afternoon, and I was still codeless (and clueless), but I decided I wouldn't be a prisoner in my own apartment and would go about my business in the hope that the code would reappear in my memory by the time I got back. 

As it happened, a young man from my building was coming out as I was standing at the door, gazing at the lock as if it contained the mysteries of the universe. I asked him, "What is our code?" and he told me what it was, saying he hoped they hadn't changed it. I said "No, I'm just typing it in wrong" . . . and then I tried it, and it worked. Once he said it, it sounded right, but I'm not sure when I would have remembered it on my own. It was like I had gone on a trip and been away so long that I had forgotten where I left my key. Greatly relieved, I went out to the car to run my errands -- but not before writing the code down.

Perhaps Jung would say there are few accidents. I wouldn't say that everything that happens has a deeper meaning, but it's hard not to muse over such an odd occurrence. I was writing about mazes yesterday afternoon, and the sense of being lost; the experience of being locked out was a lot like ending up in a blind alley. I won't say that this was a case of unconsciously acting out a subject I've been preoccupied with, but that's one possibility. Stranger things have happened.