Jonathan Sprinkle's weblog

I got really sick the day we left Berkeley to come to Tucson. Not because I was sick and tired (though I was really tired too!), but mostly because I was just worn out. Anyway, to cut a long story short, when I was packing our stuff for the car, I thought:

Aha, I should make sure that the key to the fireproof lockbox is not packed with my clothes! I will put it on my keychain.

So, I had the lockbox key on my car keychain. Innocent enough. The key looks a lot like a bike lock key, like those Kryptonite ones that you could open with a Bic pen, which were on the news not too long ago.

Well, as I mentioned, I got sick. I couldn't drive, and I got motion sickness between our apartment and the landlord's house to give him back the keys. So, when we pulled up to his driveway, I realized that we hadn't taken the grocery cart with us when we left, because the bike lock key for it was on my keychain still! I thought,

Aha! I should make sure that our landlord gets the bike lock key to our leftover grocery cart! I will take it off my keychain.

Now, you may have already mentioned to yourself, "Self, I see exactly what Jonathan did!" But, of course, I was sick-as-a-dog. I mean really out of it. I mumbled something to Mary Margaret about the keys on my keychain, and slumped over while she took them over to our landlord.

For a few days, nothing happened. That's of course because we didn't need to get anything out of our lock box. Then, one magical night, just 12 hours before we left for Scotland, Mary Margaret says to me,

Jon, where's the key to the lockbox?

Uh, duh.

It's on my keychain. I was soooo clever, I put it on there before we left

Silence. Clinking.

Can you show it to me on here? I can't seem to find it. I recall it looks like a bike lock key...

Then it hit me. Our key to our lockbox was 900 miles away. We were leaving in 12 hours. It took us 14 hours to drive one way. I might not make it back in time.

I swore.

Now, I hope you won't judge me too much on the swearing. After all, I've known all the words ever since I went to high school, and I've got a great memory. Plus, if you count all the years I couldn't talk at all, I really deserve a few every now and then. I quickly used them up.

I saw that I had a few options:

1. I could make a fake version of MM's passport. All I would really need to do is watch the Bourne Identity and see how he did it. Oh, and I might need some Elmer's glue, but it's cheap at Wal-Marts. Ohhhh, and I could see if they had any of those fruit smoothie bars, and also get the tires rotated.
   
2. I could call a locksmith.
   
3. I could try to pick the lock.
   

Suddenly, I remembered: It's like a bike lock. Like one of those Kryptonite ones you could open with a Bic pen. Ooh, I could go to Wal-Mart and get a Bic pen.

Well, a half-hour later I was no closer to opening the box than I was to stopping swearing. I had gone through two Bic pens, and was re-evaluating my options:

1. I could get in the car and drive as fast as I could to a hotel, and escape Mary Margaret's wrath. Downside: could never come back to the house. Also, might need gas money, and could not ask without arousing suspicion.
   
2. I could call a locksmith.
   
3. I could drill the lock.
   

Hey, now there's an idea. I'm a man. I've seen Tool Time. I can probably drill this bad boy open before dawn, and even if I fail I can still call a locksmith!

It took three drill bit choices, and a hammer and tongs, but I finally got it open. You see, the thing to do is to basically peel back all of the plastic, find the piece of metal holding the top in, and rip it to the left (or right) using a screwdriver, and voila, you've opened your very own fireproof box.

Now, all I had to do was hope there wasn't a fire while we were gone.