Last Wednesday I dawdled away my last fifteen minutes at work: went to the bathroom, checked in with friends, divvied up my hours worked and tracked them in the computer system. This is my daily Farewell To Work Dance. The last dance step is snagging my car key - and - I couldn't find it.
I assumed I had just done the car key snag early, so I retraced my steps: I checked my pockets, bathroom stall, friends, laptop bag - no key.
I had to assume I had dropped it in the parking garage that morning. And a Mini key lying next to a Mini car - who could resist that temptation? (Besides Gary - one time we were in a closed used-car lot and found a car key on the ground that did indeed open a nearby car. We just sat in the car for a bit, and then returned the key through the service department drop-slot with a note that said the car cornered well.)
Since I imagined someone finding the key by the car then driving merrily away, my anxiety immediately bought a new car (fully electric). I didn't mourn the Mini for a minute. But before I contacted the authorities, or even went out to the parking garage to see the burnt rubber and tread marks leading away from my empty spot, I retraced all my steps from when I hit the building at nine in the morning.
I rounded the corner by the first room I'd been in that day and shouted, "OH. THANK. GOD." Because there was my car key, sitting calmly in the middle of the table. Electric car fantasies went dark when I saw my familiar key fob.
A friend within earshot called out, "Was that your car key?"
I staggered out of the room, "IT HAS BEEN IN HERE SINCE NINE IN THE MORNING!" I said, aghast.
He replied, "Yeah, we wondered whose key it was."
I covered my car key with kisses and I've kept a close eye on it since.
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