Don't leave your keys in the door, you never know who might find them

Having a house to yourself is pretty much EXACTLY like Risky Business as far as I am concerned. No roommates, no pants, no volume control, and certainly no manners or normal niceties observed. The summer after my first year of teaching, in a matter of a week I went from having a full classroom and a house full of roommates to living completely alone. It was amazing. Not to suggest that I feel anything but affection for my former students or house mates, just to say that after a year of near constant people, having a whole to floors to myself was a glorious luxury. I found a job as a swim instructor, ensuring I never really had to wear pants ( a life long dream come true), and there was no one to scold me for drinking my wine right out of the bottle (really, why get a glass dirty when you’re not even sharing?).

Living the bachelor pad dream, I spent entire weekends without speaking to anyone but the delivery guy, and entire evenings on the couch with nothing but Det. Elliot Stabler and a bottle of wine for company. All done, of course, while wearing pants as infrequently as possible.

With no attempting to eat urinal cakes, or jump out classroom windows on my watch, no one out to steal my keys to try and lock me out of the classroom, I let my personal awareness float away in a haze of chlorine and sunscreen. The keys thing though, is an issue for me even when I am on alert (there’s a reason teachers actually wear lanyards - they’re not just for college freshmen). I was on a first name basis with the campus security force in college because I locked myself out so frequently, and my roommate Jo got on average 3 texts a week asking if she knew where I had left my keys. So it should come as no surprise that I have a bad habit of leaving them in the door once I unlock it. The house I was living in was not in the best of shape, the was funky and the lock even funkier. When shuffling a pool bag, groceries, a couple books, and a towel getting inside the door was no small accomplishment; this frequently led to me dropping everything on the stairs, yelling at the door, finally getting it open, throwing all my things onto the landing and storming up the long flight of stairs to the kitchen. You’ll note that nowhere in this melodrama do I remember to yank the keys out of the door. Living with roommates, someone generally comes through the door yelling at you about leaving your keys in the door (again) and all is (mostly) well. Living alone, you have no such luxury.

Not long into my summer of solitude I left my keys hanging in the top lock. Dried out and eaten alive by pool chemicals, I couldn’t wait to take a shower, and stay dry for a full 12 hours. In my haste to feel human again my keys slipped my mind. 45 minutes later, I was well settled into the couch, watching Law and Order reruns with my dear friend Charles Shaw, in what had become my go to loungewear, underwear and a tee shirt. although I like to pretend my life is a sitcom, I don’t have a highly paid stylist to make sure that I look adorable even when I should be disheveled and gross - I just look disheveled and gross. Following the iconic “dun dun” or Law & Order I hear a door rattling and commotion. Assuming its the opening to the horrific crime about to be tried, I thought little of it until it seemed to be getting louder. The rattling and pounding of the  door stopped and the shouting sounded less like TV and more like someone in my house. There is nothing quite like an SVU marathon to make you fear the worst. Jumping up, wine bottle in hand I stuck my head around the door frame of the living room to peek out over the landing of the stairs. Hearing the still indistinct shouts even louder I approached the top of the stairs. Standing on the top step, dressed in nothing but an oversized college tee shirt and underwear (definitely not the cute ones either) armed with a bottle of 3 buck Chuck I found myself face to face with our downstairs neighbor who was rattling my keys and yelling in an attempt NOT to scare me as he returned them. Frozen to my spot - thankful it was not a serial killer, but I’d like to see any of you react quickly to the guy downstairs materializing in your apartment while you are pantless - I had nothing to say.

In what I can only assume was an attempt to be witty he said;

“Looks like I have a new car!”

Still startled, I must have looked confused because he clarified it was a joke, and he was just there to return the keys he’d seen in the door. Gathering the few wits I could I grabbed the keys and thanked him.  Before closing the door behind him, Mr. Downstairs turns around and says, “Come over anytime, I’d love to hang out.”

Judging you so harshly right now. - Boots