Published: August 28, 2008 01:46 pm         

Key element to a Hollywood ending

Is there anything in real life that works out the way it does on television?

Take breaking into a house. Not that I’ve taken up a new hobby, I simply locked myself out. My only option? Break in. Yeah, I know, I should have a key hidden somewhere or should give a key to a neighbor, but you know what they say about hindsight.

Silly me, after watching so many TV characters use credit cards, burglar tools or crowbars to open locked doors, I thought it would be a cinch to break into my house. Wrong! (Which was, to be honest, kind of a relief.) And you can forget about trying to kick down the door or ram it with a shoulder. The door didn’t budge. Not even a little.

I had to call a friend to borrow a crowbar. I figured she’d recognize my voice, so I didn’t bother with introductions.

“Who is this?” she’d demanded after my spiel.

“Who else do you know that would call up and ask to borrow a crowbar to break into her house?” I’d asked.

Good thing my keys were in my car so I could drive to her house. Too bad I didn’t have a house key on the same key ring, it would’ve saved me gasoline and a broken lock.

Then again, leaving my keys in my car has gotten me into trouble, too. About 16 months ago, my SUV was stolen, and yes, my keys were in the console, and yes, I’d forgotten to lock the doors.

I called the same friend that day, too. After I assured her I wouldn’t be upset with a suggestion, she recommended I check my garage. But I was one step ahead of her. That was the first thing I did when I looked outside and didn’t see my car parked there.

Just in case it was still in the neighborhood, I took a walk around the block. Unfortunately, my vehicle was nowhere to be seen.

Dreading having to make a phone call to my mom, I called the police instead. Like my friend, the officer asked if I’d looked in the garage. He didn’t want me to be offended, either. I told him no offense was taken — I accepted a long time ago that I’m a tad on the ditzy side, a residual effect of having grown up with blond hair, I suppose. My hair may have darkened with age, but it hasn’t changed the fact that I need a Post-It note to remind me that I had another Post-It note to remind me of something else.

The police officer took down all the necessary information and told me the department would be in touch. My job was to sit, stand or whatever and wait.

So wait I did. And wait. And wait. Waiting seems to take forever, that whole watched-pot philosophy.

Sometime in the afternoon, I was outside working in the yard when a man pulled up in a pickup truck.

“Are you Deb?” 

“Yes, I am.”

“Do these look familiar?”

He was holding my car keys. I was dumbfounded. Seems he’d been walking the River Bluff Trail and had spotted the keys lying on the path. I couldn’t believe it.

The stranger went on to explain that he’d asked people he’d walked by if they recognized the keys but no one did. So, he did what anybody with a brain would do: pushed the panic button in the parking lot near T.J. Smith Photography. 

Nothing.

So, he trekked to the lot along Davis Road and did the same thing. And voila, a horn sounded. Little did he realize he’d stumbled upon stolen property. He simply thought someone had lost his or her keys. He found my name and address inside the SUV and was kind enough to track me down. I was ecstatic.

After thanking him profusely, I went inside the house. This time, I called Mom first to tell her my vehicle had been found. Then, I called the police. After it was cleared from the scene, I was free to pick it up.

We decided some kids had taken the SUV out for a joy ride. The reason I hadn’t heard the vehicle driving away was because there was a big ol’ hand print on the back where they’d pushed it. The other clue that it’d been kids was the fact that the radio was cranked to a hip-hop station.    

As if adding insult to injury, the little monsters had parked the SUV in a handicapped space. I had to admit it was a nice touch.

Wouldn’t that have been something had I gotten a ticket for parking there? Now that would have been fit for the ending of a television sitcom.

Deb Saine is a columnist for the Pharos-Tribune. She can be reached through the newspaper at ptnews@pharostribune.com