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  • Perhaps the only thing worse than losing your keys, is finding them missing, looking for them everywhere, giving up, getting all the keys recut, locks changed, transponders recreated…. And then they turn up. You can tell yourself it’s OK, now you have spares, and everything is more secure… but deep down you know you are thinking about how you could have better spent that money.

    That’s almost how it went down for my latest client in Southport.

    Mr “X” was a creature of habit. He ALWAYS put his keys in his pockets, not his bag. Too dangerous he thought, what if someone steals your bag? You lose your bag AND your keys. No way were keys going in his bag.

    But on this warm evening he’d gone down to Southport for a swim with his wife who had dropped him home, before she drove off to the airport to fly interstate to visit her mother.. One of his neighbours had the Barbie going, saw him come home and knowing Mr “X” was going to be home alone, invited him straight over for a Barbie. Stubbie was cracked and placed in hand within 30 seconds of his wife’s car door closing.

    More followed.

    Some hrs later “Mr X” was fumbling through his pockets looking for his keys when he realised…. They weren’t there. Couldn’t be. He was wearing his board shorts with tiny pockets no way his bulky keys could be in his pockets. He’d be able to feel them squashing up against his legs. They were gone gone GONE!

    “Shit they’ve fallen out of the pocket of my boardies somewhere… probably in the bloody car!” he thinks to himself. He madly rings his wife, gets the Voicemail – she is already on the plane. He goes back to the neighbours to look for them in the forlorn hope they have fallen out in the backyard. Nope. No sign of them.

    His house was locked up tighter than a drum, so he finally decides there is nothing else to be done, he must call a Southport locksmith and get some help getting into the house. 15 minutes later I arrive, 2 minutes later we are inside, and My “X” is inside looking for proof he is actually a resident of the house and I haven’t just let in a drunk burglar. He finds sufficient proof of this and has a quick look around for his keys but nothing appears.

    Then he has a Eureka moment. “Oh Damnit!” He yells as he runs outside and picks up his backpack that he’d taken to the pool that he thrown on the front porch hours before. In his backpack were his shorts, in his shorts, were his keys.

    At least he found them before I start cutting him some new ones!