Lock Cutters

April Fool’s Day!

Suck it. I actually pulled a prank on myself.

It all started with realizing that I was more tired than usual at 5:00 AM. And whenever I realize I’m more tired than usual, I seem to feel the effects more. Drastic, woozy effects.

Who knows what I joked to Janet about when I walked into the YMCA. Something. I know I laughed about something, probably at my own comment, but I have no clue what I said.

I do remember my card scanning with more ease than usual.

BEEP!

I was in, talking with Janet about something.

I filled my water bottle as usual and swiped my way into the bourgeois Gold Locker Room.

I opened my usual locker 220 (221, whatever it takes), and I can only assume I went through the usual procedure:

I place my coat and scarf inside. Then the water bottle goes up top. My button down shirt and tie get hung on the hook to the right, towels to the left. My shoes go up top, with my phone leaning against them. My wallet goes in the shoes. I pull the lock from my gym bag and set it on the bench. I grab my swim and shower supplies, including flip flops, from my official YMCA locker with my name on it: GREGORY MILO. I leave that cracked — nothing is in it. I place my back in 220, close her up, and lock it safe.

Somewhere in the mix, there was a malfunction this April 1, 2015. Somewhere along the way, I thought it necessary to place my key and ID card (both of which I need after swimming) into the locker, slam it shut, and lock it.

Then it hit me.

I’m only holding a towel and shower bag. No keys. No ID.

And then I had that feeling: I must have the key and ID somewhere.

I looked in my shower bag and beneath my Speedo. Nothing. I really locked them up.

Then came the dilemma: Do I walk out to the front desk now or after my swim?

I decided it would look better if I walked to the front desk in my Speedo dry rather than wet. Not sure why, I’ll be in a Speedo either way.

I wrapped my thin towel around my shoulders for modesty’s sake, and I headed for Janet.

She looked up from her game of solitaire, and for a split second I thought, Who plays solitaire on the computer anymore? Janet plays solitaire.

“Janet,” I asked, “do we have bolt cutters? I locked my keys in my locker. No way in.”

“Yes. I’ll call Fred.”

As she called Fred and waited for him to answer she said, “That is embarrassing.”

Yes, I thought, yes it is, Janet. But really, I’m too tired at the moment to give a rat’s ass.

Fred eventually came with the bolt cutters. Hunchbacking his way, as he does, toward the Gold Locker Room.

CLIP!

And I was in.

“Thanks, Fred.”

“They say I look like a mountain man.”

“Oh?”

“Need to shave.”

“Okay. Thanks, again.”

“Get my razor while I’m in here.”