* * * * *
Lock out
In the fourteen or so years I lived in Condo Conner I locked myself outside a
few times; enough to count on one hand and still have fingers left over.
In the less than six months here at the Facility in the Middle of Nowhere I
have now managed to lock myself out three times. What the heck is wrong with
me?
It just happened, otherwise I wouldn't be bringing this up. I'm putting
laundry in, and Rob [1] comes down stairs and we start chatting. I finish
putting in the load and Rob heads outside to smoke a cigarette and I follow
him, subconsciously locking the door behind me.
The door closes. “Um, Rob,” I said. “You wouldn't happen to have your keys on
you, would you?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh … no particular reason … ”
Fortunately, Rob has a good sense of humor about these things.
[1]
http://www.tragic-smurfs.com/
Email author at
[email protected]
