One of my New Year’s resolutions (I only have two and the other is to exercise every day) was to organize my storage spaces and get rid of the things I have been housing since my move from Bristol Place five years ago. For example, the INDO Board I used to balance on in high heels, while holding a glass of wine, and the boxes of “important documents” that contain old lease agreements and copies of titles to things I no longer own.
I went to my small storage space full of purpose yesterday – the one that contains holiday decorations and the fainting couch Lauren insisted I keep (but will probably never make sense in any house she or I ever live in ever again). I keep all my extra keys in a zip lock bag and when I dug through it and tried all the wrong keys, hoping for a Christmas miracle, I had to accept the possibility I had lost the storage space keys. Mind you, I do not keep the two keys separated like normal people do – one under a rock in the front yard or in a magnetized box under the hood of the car for just such an emergency. I keep them together on a flimsy wire. The lock is one of those sturdy, impenetrable round hunks of steel storage space managers insist you should spend extra money on, while touting their foolproof security in the same breath.
I went to the car and tore it apart like they do in cop shows looking for blood evidence. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered dropping the keys into the crack between the seat and the console. After I dug out the equivalent of a bag full of stale Skinny Pop from the crevice and used a broken hanger as a probe, I faced facts. The storage space manager was contrite but firm – he could not help me “by LAW.”
“No problem,” I thought. I’ll just call a locksmith. I have to admit that with a set of Thursday holidays like we’ve had this year, I was ready for the hoopla to be over and assumed all trusty locksmiths would be back at work. I called the first Jacksonville Beach lock picker and the message played Christmas music and told me they’d serve me in “the New Year” (which is duty shirker code for Monday, January the 4th).
I got a dispatcher on the fifth call. I said, “I am locked out of my storage space and I need someone to get me in it.”
The dispatcher said, “Is it an emergency?”
I said, “Kind of…”
She said, “Okay. Our guy will be on duty at 7 this evening.”
I said, “What? Wait a minute – so no one is working all day today, but you have a guy coming in tonight?”
She said (sheepishly like she was hoping I wouldn’t figure this out), “Well, with the holidays and all, we are short handed. Is there someone in danger? A baby or an animal?”
I said, “Not really. But what if there was?”
She said, “You’d call 911 I guess? Do you want me to schedule you for this evening? There will be a holiday/Saturday/off hours charge.”
And here comes the real Christmas miracle. I said, “No. I guess I’ll have to wait till Monday.”
In my heavy drinking years, I never waited for anything. This is what I would have done in the above scenario: I would have had a drink from one of the wine shooters in the glove box as soon as I realized the keys were lost. It would probably not be my first drink of the morning. I would make the storage space guy hate his life and slam the door to the office when he said he couldn’t help me. I would have left nasty messages for the four locksmiths who dared to take a Christmas break (I kind of think that is justified…) and I would have arranged to meet the locksmith at 7 in the evening, because money was no object.
Then I would have gone home and drank some more, and by the time I met the locksmith I would be drunk and it would be dark and I’d pay him a bunch of money and leave the storage space unlocked (because I wouldn’t have thought to buy a new lock and I would be too loaded to go to Target) and I would go home and pass out and deal with it all on Monday anyway.
You see how this Christmas miracle thing works? I still lost the keys, because I was frazzled and trying to make the holiday wonderful for my loved ones, and I am still a bit disorganized when it comes to the dross of my life. BUT, I was sensible about how I dealt with the problem. And I didn’t blame the poor sod who had to sit in the storage office on a holiday weekend, and I didn’t spend money unnecessarily.
I didn’t drink till I passed out. I didn’t even WANT to. And maybe I’ll keep the INDO Board because it’s really good core exercise and exercising every day is one of my New Year’s resolutions.
See how that came full circle? It’s a bloody holiday miracle…