Everyday of my life there is an annoyance with which I am getting greatly frustrated. Infuriated with even. I hate looking at them. I hate having them. I wish I could just throw them in the gutter. But I can’t get rid of them. No matter how hard I try or how long I think, there is simply not a way beyond this huge impasse of my life….crabs. Just kidding.
The obstacle of which I speak is my ring of keys. I hate carrying keys with me. Two keys for my apartment, one for the office, one for the mailbox. I use to have a house key on there for my parent’s house in Pennsylvania but I lost it one night.
My plight, however, must be shared with at least a few other people as yesterday when returning from lunch I passed a locksmith who’s storefront sign brandished the two most poetic words I’ve ever read in my life: “Keyless Entry.”
Andy: Oh glorious day! Keyless Entry, I love you!
Locksmith: Yes! It is magical. But of course like every magic, this keyless entry holds a terrible curse!
Andy: Egads! Praytell shopkeep, what be this curse?
(The day darkens as the sun cowars behind a cloud. Shadows shroud the Locksmith’s face and in his eye there’s a devilish gleam)
Locksmith: All who install keyless entry systems in their houses must pay me a fee of $45 to install plus $100 for the system!!
(The sun quickly comes out and looks confusedly down at the Locksmith)
Andy: …um…That’s not…I mean is that really a curse? It seems to me like its just what you pay to get keyless entry installed.
Locksmith: ….I guess you’re right. You’re the only person who never ran away screaming after I mentioned a curse though.
Andy: Oh really? I mean it was a little weird but not that scary.
Locksmith: …well I mean people don’t really run away screaming after I mention the curse.
Andy: But you just sai–
Locksmith: I know what I said!
Locksmith: …Are you going to get keyless entry or not?
Andy: No, I’m too afraid of the curse.
(Andy runs away, screaming)
All in all it was a pretty bizzarre encounter, but in the streets of New York you can’t really expect anything to be normal. But until I can summon up the courage, my keys will forever jab my leg as I stroll about the city in search of a non-key solution. Maybe I’ll just become homeless. Then the only key I’ll have is the key to my heart. Which I will give to my smelly, crazy, reckless, and equally homeless bride. We’ll get married in puddles of our own filth and band our fingers – a soda bottle ring for her, a twist-tie for me. It’ll be grand.