Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Lock and Load
It’s the little things in life that are really key. Like, for instance, keys.
I actually carry keys with me most all of the time. I find them extremely useful for, for example, gaining access to my residence, or operating my motor vehicle. I don’t need a lot of keys but for those I need, my need for them is pretty inflexible. When, at the conclusion of some recent travels, I arrived back home at 11 o’clock on a drizzly night with a dying cell phone battery and exhausted patience to find my keys not where I typically keep them, I was seriously in a world of hurt. It was nearly half an hour of frantic doorbell-ringing later before Kel stumbled out, unsmilingly, to buzz me in. Turns out my keys were at the bottom of my massively-overstuffed messenger bag, practically unfindable until I had a dry surface on which to unpack my burdens. My point being: Keys - I need’em.
Even though my keyring has only a handful of items on it, I still encountered some difficulties with it. Such as: the new car came with a new key just for me - my key for the old car didn’t fit on my ring and didn’t disarm the alarm, so I rarely kept it with me (being only an occasional driver). Even then, it just rode along loose in my pocket, unconnected to its keyley confreres. Alsoly, the old car key had an integrated remote keyless entry control activator, wherewith I could lock or unlock the car from a distance; the new car, for some reason, separates these functions into two distinct widgets, each of which I could and did attach to my little keyring - thereby significantly increasing the bulk of my key-related burdens.
Beyond those items for the car, though, there’s not too many keys I need to carry. Kelly’s key-needs are much the same as mine, and consequently her keyring was almost identical to my own - pretty much the same keys on pretty much the same little wire ring. We even used similarly colored rubber collars to identify the “key” keys, like ‘front gate” and “front door.” On hectic mornings, fishing through our untidy keys-n-stuff drawer in pallid light, tired and rushed and distracted, it was entirely too easy for me to mistake my keys for hers, or vice versa. Not that it really made much o f a practical difference, but it nonetheless offended our relative senses of propriety. Her keys are all girly, whereas mine put her at risk of testosteritis, with its associated baritonism and hirsutosity. We just don’t like risking such outcomes. We like having our own keys, dammit.
The solution at the time seemed simple - I added a danglebauble to my keyring, distinguishing it from hers. It was a
small plastic dude wearing medieval Korean garb and a puckish grin. He was just barely big enough to be a notable discriminating keyring characteristic, not big enough to bulge my trouserpocket or interfere much with the actual use of the keys themselves. Not much - but some, nonetheless. With his chunky proportions and squared-off headgear, my little keydude did in fact make his presence known more often than I’d have preferred. Somehow he wound up being just the perfect size for getting jammed up against the car alarm buttons and randomly locking or unlocking the Soob. I was forever shifting my keys from one hand to the other and accidentally activating the remote keyless entry. It was a minor inconvenience, but a cognizable one regardless. And given the choice, I’d prefer my modern conveniences to be minimally inconvenient - perhaps even not inconvenient at all. I know, I’m funny that way. Among others. But I digress.
At that point I had a modest little keyring with four housekeys, one car key, one car alarm beeper, one plastic traditional Korean boychik, and of course a
65-year-old dog license tag for good luck, but that didn’t really play into things so much, being so tiny and un-inconveniencing. However, the car key and beeper and Koreaboy turned out not to play well together at all. I kept on finding them entangled, interfering with each other, and generally bolloxed up. Something needed doing, but I wasn’t clear what.
Turns out, clarity was less important than resolve. When one day I just got fed up by once again accidentally unlocking the car as I fumbled to jam my clumsy keycluster back into my pocket, I took action precipitously and peremptorily, by extracting the car-clicker from the ring and then immediately returning it to the same spot - but facing the other way. As it slid into place next to the car key, the two items snuggled cozily together. The key’s heavy plastic chassis, till that moment a pointless excess of self-important design, matched right up to the theretofore clunky clicker’s own operative surface, shielding the buttons I’d so frequently been inadvertently pressing. By rotating the clicker half-way around, it was suddenly an object that fit perfectly exactly where it had always been. And I saw that it was good.
The keyring K-boy remained on board as a distinguishing icon, helping me to pick the right ring. Still, though I liked him personally, and he no longer was able to activate or deactivate the car alarm with such compunction, he still made the whole assemblage of my key ring a bit less wieldly than I thought it ought to be. And, while he did serve a valuable purpose, I thought perhaps that purpose might be served equally well by some other, more streamlined and utilitarian object.
Enter the Leatherman: Ever since I’d stupidly forgotten to leave one at home years ago when heading off to the airport, where I made an enforced gift of it to my TSA buddies, I’ve wanted a(nother) Leatherman Micra. It’s got a
tiny blade, but one that’s adequate for most any cut-job that comes my way. But along with the blade there’s a bottle opener, a screwdriver, tweezers, a chisel, a fingernail cleaner, a useless little ruler, and the sharpest damn scissors I’ve ever used. Folded up, it’s smaller than my car key, forming a
firm little package of exceptional economy. I’ve wanted (another) one, as I mentioned, for years.
That longing ended in April when I received one as a birthday gift. With delight I threaded it onto my keyring, where it so obviously belonged. Off came the K-boy, a little scuffed from his sojourn in my trousers but still grinning broadly even as I dropped him in the foyer keydrawer and shut it on him to leave him in the dark.
The micra nestles easily against the car key; the car key rests with intimate familiarity against the alarm clicker. The three together form a triumverate that fills the palm of my hand and the socket of my pocket, coherent and satisfying. The micra’s gleaming steel finish is more easily noticed on drowsy tardy mornings than the K-boy ever was. The car is no longer ever accidentally unlocked; I can cut open a package or pull a splinter with utter facility. The keys themselves are unchanged but their unified presence, my experience of using them and of having them with me, is subtly but significantly improved. I really didn’t realize how much they had been hanging me up and holding me back. It wasn’t a problem I had to do much to resolve, either. I just had to key in on a solution and it was right there waiting for me to lock things up.
Well that was fun. Meantime I have not had a chance to do much writing for weeks, what with the busyness and the preoccupation and the activities and all. Kindergarten graduation, workplace labor activities, a quick trip to chinatown and the cable car museum, and a variety of other diversions - together with a serious buttload of work - have rather distracted me. I’ve got some goofy lists lined up, and several writing prompts to explore - but all I can do is hope for a chance to do the actual writing. Wish me luck. No, I mean now, goddamn it. Jeez, you people. Seriously.