I was supposed to get to the office by about 10:00 this morning. I've got a significant amount of work to do and there were supposed to be people there office who required my presence. At about 9:55 I began my morning routine (about an hour late, but hey, it's Sunday, it's OK to be a little late on Sunday). Shower, shave, coffee, cereal, paper, etc. I got dressed, got my crap together, and headed for the door. It was at about this point that I realized that I did not have my keys.
"No matter," I think, "they're somewhere in the house; per usual I've just misplaced them. It'll take me five minutes and I'll be on my way." I misunderestimated the situation. Flash forward two hours, I've ripped apart my room, the livingroom/diningroom/kitchen area, and the bathroom. No keys. At this point I’m not sure what to do. I know I had them when I got in at 9 last night. I’m pretty sure I placed them on the kitchen table along with the newspaper and my phone. But the newspaper is still there and my phone is in my pocket. I’ve sorted through the mail that was scattered on the table, placed the mail each of the housemates’ “inbox,” washed and put away the dishes that were on the table, and even checked under it. Still no keys.
--At this point I’m getting irritated and frustrated, this is my life. A general lack of awareness that leads to situations like this. All I have to do is pay more attention, slow down, make an effort and shit like this won’t happen so often.--
The only thing that remains on the table is a case of beer, one of three purchased in anticipation of a party that was supposed to happen last night. (Which really never materialized, the organizing housemate had to run down to Richmond because his sister was in labor, which turned out to be false labor. I didn’t invite anyone because I wasn’t sure I’d be around.) At any rate, the only thing left atop the table is the case of beer. I begin to head for the rooftop upstairs deck. For some reason, it has occurred to me that my keys may have wanted to enjoy the beautiful evening and the night air and thus made their way up to the roof. I can’t believe the possibility hasn’t occurred to me yet; that’s exactly where they are.
I wheel around and head for the stairs. As my foot hits the bottom step, I again notice, in my peripheral vision, the sole occupant of the table top- - a lonely case of Miller Lite. And with a calm purposefulness that would shock anyone who had witnessed my frenzied two-hour long search for the missing keys, I walk back to the table lift the case of beer, pick up my keys from beneath it, and walk out the door.
It wasn’t until after I was half way to the office that the following occurred to me: I was about to be three hours late for work because my keys were concealed by a case of beer.
There is some symbolism there, something indicative of my life as a whole. And I laughed quietly for a good five minutes.