Keys

I don't know much about apartment living in the States any more as I've lived in houses since 1976. Here, when you sign your lease, you also get all the copies of the keys to your place. There's no super with a master set. It's important not to lock yourself out.

I managed to do so, however, a couple of weeks ago, just as the housing agent was coming by to pick up his finder's fee. I took the garbage out and didn't realize until I came back inside that I had shut the always-locked-front-door behind me and had only my cell phone, but no keys, in my pocket. It was late in the afternoon and beginning to get chilly. The dog was inside, along with my keys, and my coat.

I had given my second set of keys to Hannah, who is a 10-minute tram ride away, so I called her to see if she could bring them to me, as I was expecting the housing agent any minute. She ran out to get the tram, which only runs every 20 minutes, and then called me to suggest I meet her at the tram stop so she could just stay on and get back home. She had friends coming over.

The housing agent arrived just as I was calling him to tell him what had happened and that my daughter was on her way with the keys. He left for another appointment, but was coming back in a half hour. I left to go meet the tram. Five minutes later Hannah called back to say that bus service had been substituted for the tram and had changed the schedule just enough so that she had missed the one to my house, and she couldn't wait for the later one. I would have to go to her.

But by then I had had an idea. The flat next door to me is still vacant and we have a shared back yard. I remembered leaving my back door open, so if the housing agent had the keys with him to that place, I could go through, step over the fence and get back in. I called him again, he did have the keys, so I walked back from the bus stop to the building. He arrived with the keys, I went into the back yard, and no, I hadn't left the back door open after all. There was Maggie, looking bewildered out the window at me.

Mr. Housing Agent had to go to another appointment and agreed to return in a day or two for his cash. So back I went to get the bus for Hannah's, told the bus driver in my faltering German the only story I could manage, which was that I had lost my wallet with my buss pass in it and had to get to my daughter's, and he kindly let me on. The driver on the return trip was not so nice. In fact he was downright nasty, and to escape his radiating malevolence I got off a stop early and walked the rest of the way home in the dark.