NORMAN — Myrtle steps out to get the morning paper in her robe and slippers. She returns, tries the doorknob and it won’t turn. She checks her pockets.
“Oh, my goodness — I’ve locked myself out! Now what? No neighbors home this time of day.”
She hustles next door to check, but no one is there. She tries another.
“I know they won’t recognize me. I look a mess.”
Finally a door opens.
“Cynthia, I’m so glad you’re home,” Myrtle says. “May I come in and call a locksmith? Crazy as it sounds, I’ve locked myself out.”
“Maybe I can get you in. I’ve done it here before. Is it a deadbolt?”
Cynthia grabs something from her purse and they go check. Cynthia manages to slip a plastic card around the lock and open the door.
“I can’t believe it!” Myrtle cries. “You’ve saved me!”
Just don’t try this at home.
Grandparents knew better. They put every key to every lock on a huge ring and clipped the ring to their clothes.
“I can’t get this,” Grandpa says, wrestling with the key in the back door lock.
“Let me see that.” Grandma studies the keys. “Here, try this one. You used the wrong key.’
The lock opens. “Well, heck, what’s the other one for?”
“Who knows — It’s been on that key ring forever.”
Old keys, it seems, never come off the key ring.
Lisa moves to a big city from a small town. She’s quite excited about her new job, but she can’t believe the number of locks on her apartment door.
“But I lost only one key,” she complains to the landlord after one week. “I need to get in my apartment.”
The landlord grumbles and opens her apartment with the master key.