I’m losing my mind — and my keys

At any given time, I have seven keys I need to keep track of: a house key, a key to the gate for my backyard, two car keys, one for the newspaper’s office and two for the coin boxes that hold papers along the route.

That’s it, seven. And you would think I, as a reasonably competent adult, would be capable of keeping track of and/or managing seven keys.

You would be wrong.

This all started on Wednesday, while I was running the paper route.

The route itself is pretty basic. I spend most of my day driving around Pickens County pulling the old papers from the various stops and replacing them with the new edition. Most stops are monthly billed accounts, but there’s a few places where I have to collect cash sales — including the coin boxes at the local post offices.

The old papers were starting to pile up in my car, so I decided to make a stop at the recycling center in Liberty on my way back to the office. I dumped the old papers and headed on my merry way.

When I got back, I couldn’t find the route money bag. I looked under my seat, in the side panel pockets, under the floor mats — everywhere. It was nowhere to be found. That’s when my eyes set upon the empty paper bins in the back and I knew immediately what had happened.

I threw away the bag at the recycling center.

The money in the bag wasn’t the problem — like I said, most of the route accounts are billed — the problem was the keys. Those coin boxes only open with a key — and we didn’t have a spare set. At least, not in Easley. Our sister paper in Newberry probably had a set, but that meant I would have to drive down on Monday to get them — not really how I wanted to spend an afternoon.

The second time was Saturday. On Saturdays, well, most Saturdays anyway, I set up a booth at the Easley Farmer’s Market in Old Market Square where I sell these little bird feeders I make out of teacups. (Don’t ask. It’s a weird hobby.)

Anyway, because the newspaper’s office is right on the Square, I keep my tables and chairs and stuff there so I don’t have to lug all it all from home every weekend. It makes setup a breeze and acts as sort of my “home base” in case I need to run to the bathroom or grab some cold water from the cooler.

As is with most weekends, my kids, Ben and Sam, came with me to the market. Now usually this is all fine and dandy, but it was really hot out that morning and they were getting crabby. The Market runs until noon and we still had a couple of hours left before I could pack up so I had the bright idea to let them hang out in the office. They could play on their tablets and just chill out in the AC until I wrapped up.

This plan would have worked out fine had Sam not decided it would be funny to lock his big brother out. Even that wouldn’t have been too bad if he hadn’t then forgotten he had locked the door before chasing his brother out and slamming the door behind him — locking us all out.

After unsuccessfully trying to pick the lock for about an hour, I broke down and called a locksmith. (Who got the door open in about five seconds.)

I was dreading the bill for an after-hours call on a weekend but the guy was super cool and ended up not charging me. (I happily gave him one of my bird feeders as a thank you.)

Monday rolled around and as it turned out, there was a box of inserts that needed to go to Newberry anyway so I had a reason (besides my own ineptitude) to make the drive. The inserts were delivered and I had spares cut from their extra keys — three sets to ensure nothing this stupid ever happened again.

Except … not even three hours later, it happened again.

On the way back home, I stopped for groceries and locked my keys in my car.

I know, I know … I don’t know what’s wrong with me either. But while I’m trying to figure that out, go ahead and keep your keys far, far away from me.