"The Nutty Locksmith and His Tidy Whities"

     We’ve all had them. Moments in time when we are totally embarrassed. Most of the time the embarrassment wears off in fairly short order, but then there are a handful of times that you cringe every time you think of “that” embarrassing moment in your life. For me, there are two that stand out. I’m cringing as I write this. Why write about it and tell the world you ask? Therapy. Self-diluted perhaps, but therapy nevertheless.

     The first of these two acts of dubious repute came in August of 1977. I was working as a locksmith trainee for a company in Houston, Texas. Now, for those of you who have never been to Houston in August let me explain something. It is incredibly hot and equally humid. Well, it’s just miserable is what it is. So, the dispatcher asks me if I’m ready to go on my first job by myself. It’s suppose to be a simple job. Of course, I said yes. Mistake number 1. The job was to go to a little gas station in Montrose (a part of Houston well-known for some pretty strange people) and change out a lock on a the men’s room that had been damaged when someone couldn’t hold it anymore. Sounds simple enough. I figured, as did the dispatcher, that I should be able to get it done and be back within an hour. Huh!

     So, I get there and it’s a rather filthy disgusting place. An hour was too long and it was my intention to get out of there as quick as possible. Some very strange people kept wanting to use the restroom and became aggravated that it was “out of order” for the moment. Montrose people were always ahead of the curve where fads were concerned. If you wanted to see what all the teeny-boppers would be wearing in 5 years, then go to Montrose. Guys and girls with orange or pink or lime green Mohawks wearing rings in their noses and who knows where else walked by the station in droves. Well, it was a parade so far as I was concerned.

     Anyway, I took the beat-up old lock off the door and quickly saw that a new lock would not fit back on the door without some pounding on the door around the hole. I won’t go into a longer than needed explanation, but what happened was I dropped a tool inside the filthy, steaming hot, disgusting restroom and when I bent down to pick it up the door closed. No problem, right? I mean there wasn’t even a lock on the door. Well, the door opened into the filthy restroom and the beat up old door had snagged a nail in the jamb when it closed. The door wouldn’t open. I pulled on that door as best I could, but remember there was no lock. I only had a screwdriver (all my other tools were on the other side of the door for anyone to walk up and steal while I watched through the hole in the door where the frigging lock was supposed to be). There was NO ventilation in that room other than the previously mentioned hole in the door. I tried everything I could think of to get that door open. It was hung up on that nail and the only thing that was going to get it open was for someone to kick it open from outside. Meanwhile, I’m drowning in sweat. I mean was a soaked. At one point I even prayed that God send someone to quietly set me free with as little fanfare as possible. God had other plans.

     Finally, after becoming convinced that I was incapable of getting that door open myself I did the only thing possible. I started to yell for help. I bent down and started to yell “Help!” through that hole where the stupid lock was supposed to be. Oh, did I mention the station was on the corner of a busy intersection? Lots and lots of traffic. Nobody could hear the idiot who was yelling for help in the men’s restroom of that little gas station. At one point, one of the few “normal” looking people walked by and when I yelled for help they looked at me like I was a pervert or something. Or something. Finally, after about an hour in the hot box I caught the attention of a man who had come to use the facility. I couldn’t believe the words that came out of my mouth at that point. This is where the embarrassment meter spiked and then broke. I looked up through that hole in the door where the blasted lock was supposed to be and I said to the man, “I’m the locksmith and I’m locked in here. Can you go get the manager?” Well, as he walked away laughing and holding his sides I realized that I had really sunk to the bottom that day. The manager did come around and with me standing back from the door he kicked that door in. I stepped out into that 98 degree, 95% humidity and it felt like wintertime.

     I got the lock on the door quickly after that and given I had lost half my body weight in sweat I spied a Chicken place across the street. I went in there and asked for a large Coke. They were out of Coke. Of course they were out of Coke. It was that kind of day. In fact, they only had one flavor working at that time. That’s how I capped off the afternoon with a large Strawberry soda. I don’t even like Strawberry soda, but I did that day.

     Now, for the second of the embarrassing moments. This one is much shorter, but it ranks up there with the other one. It was sometime in 1982 and a Saturday morning. I woke up feeling pretty energized and ready for a fun day off. My ex-wife (we were happily married in year 6 of 27 years at that time) had gotten up earlier and was in the kitchen. I jumped in the shower and when I finished I put on my underwear and then, in my typical nutty behavior, I started to sing (very loudly, I might add) “We’re off to see the wizard.” I continued to sing loudly as I quite literally skipped down the hall (clad only in my underwear) and into the kitchen only to come face to face with my wife and a female neighborhood friend sitting at the table drinking coffee. I then proceeded (so I was told) to turn a deep shade of scarlet while my wife and her friend looked on in complete befuddlement and horror (well, my wife was horrified for sure). I quickly retreated and hid in the back of the house until I was sure the friend had left. Just in case, I got completely dressed before going back to the scene of the crime. She was still there. All I could think of to say was, “Don’t look Ethyl!” But it was too late. She’d already been incensed.