One morning this past week I saw Gary outside feeding the birds, leaned out to kiss him goodbye, shut the door, threw the deadbolt, as you do, left for work.
Gary, who was of course locked out, wandered the neighborhood. After ringing about five doorbells, he found a neighbor who let him use the land line. Gary called the only number he remembers: his parents.
Gary's parents got him in contact with his sister. His sister gave him my work phone, which he somehow misdialed. He left the neighbor's house, and his sister then drove to our house, called her husband, her husband looked up the name of my multi-national company and got a branch office, called that number, and the office administrator there looked up my number and gave that to them, as well as sending me an urgent email.
This is when you'd expect Gary to get on the phone and RAIL at me, yet he did not. He was so agreeable I should lock him out daily. I came home immediately, of course, and we made plans to write down phone numbers and hide keys.
He has done neither. Instead, I was outside this past weekend, just for a moment, and when I tried to get in the door was locked and Gary was sitting at the table, pointedly ignoring me. He read his iPad with great interest, stroking his chin, nodding at the Times while I scrabbled piteously at the door. "Let me in! Please!"
The first thing when he let me in? He ducked his head and proudly said, "Days. I have been waiting days for the chance to do that."
Last Thursday I had a 4:30 appointment with the psychiatrist. I left well ahead of time, since I remembered that one time I got so lost at that hospital. I actually arrived at St. Luke's ten minutes early.
"Wow," I thought, "They were doing some construction the last time I was here. They really changed a lot." After trying in vain to find the doctors building, I wisely called the office.
Voice mail picked up, then added, "Our office is located at 9098 Clayton Road."
Then I remembered the doctor hasn't been at St. Luke's for six years. I have driven to that Clayton location six times and totally forgot.
Of course I arrived late. "Sorry, I'm late. I was at St. Luke's."
"Why were you at St. Luke's?" he said, concerned.
"I'm an idiot. I totally forgot you moved."
"I've never had an office at St. Luke's. I worked at St.John's - " which OF COURSE is the hospital I went to six years ago and got so lost at.
It does explain why St. Luke's looked so unfamiliar. I think I've been there once, on one of Mom's appointments. It did give us something to talk about when he asked how my MS is going ("No cognitive problems?" he asked with a little smile.)
The really sad thing is that now that he's taken me off the medication I never have to see him again. No more appointments, and here I've totally figured out where his office is.