Where the heck are my keys?

On Aug 27, 2005, at 5:45 AM, Keaka Jackson wrote:

Hey Kids,

It’s been well over a month since my last mass email, so here’s the latest unsolicited update on my fabulously exciting life.

On Tuesday night I stumbled home after a long, hard evening of drinking.

As usual, opening my door gave me quite a bit of trouble. I have a dozen keys, ten of which look exactly alike. I don’t even know what nine of the keys are for. But I certainly can’t throw them away, because they might unlock something important. Anyway, that wasn’t a problem on Tuesday night, because when I got to my door it came to my attention that I didn’t have any keys at all.

After standing outside in the cold for a few minutes pondering my difficult situation, I came upon a simple and elegant solution. I simply turned the handle on my door, which was apparently unlocked, and walked inside.

I’m accustomed to losing something every time I go drinking. Such as brain cells. Or my dignity. Or my clothes. And I almost never make it home with my cell phone, which spends more time under seats in friend’s cars than it does in my pocket. However, I believe this is the first time I’ve lost my keys. Nothing to worry about, I thought. I was a Boy Scout with numerous merit badges*, so I know a thing or two about being prepared. Surely I have duplicates of all my important keys! Unfortunately, after rummaging through my drawers, the only spare key I found belongs to a bike lock that I haven’t seen in three years.

I decided there were three possible reasons that my keys didn’t make it home:

  1. A clever friend, probably Otis, stole my keys from the bar table while I was in the bathroom.
  2. I dropped them in the gutter with my change while trying to flag down the bus to get home.
  3. I never took them drinking in the first place, and the keys were buried in my well organized room.

It’s been a little over three days since my keys disappeared and none of my co-drinkers have confessed to the theft. Thus, tonight I calmly accepted that I would never find the purpose of those nine mystery keys that look exactly like my apartment key. While debating what type of funeral ceremony to prepare for my beloved keys, I picked through my jeans on the floor in search of chapstick. And of course, there were my keys, right there in my pocket! Yes, I’m sure everybody is thrilled for reading all the way down to this exciting conclusion.

I have several pairs of jeans on my floor, all of which look alike, so it’s unclear whether the keys were in the pants I wore out on Tuesday. It’s possible that I left the house on Tuesday without my keys, which means I lost them while I was sober. I find that hard to believe, so I’ve concluded that one of my fellow imbibers stole my keys on Tuesday, then snuck into my house and placed them in my pants a few days later to avoid confessing.


* Well, I was definitely a Cub Scout. I think I only made it through a few weeks of Boy Scouts.

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