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                                    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 sean@conman.org

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