In all of our days in the Locksmith service, we have heard a lot of stories. But when we encountered this one. It begged to repeat. Brace yourself, it’s a good one, and a great example of why you should always call a professional.
Locksmiths, NYC Heroes
I’m a professional woman, capable and proud. I went through my feminist phase, believing I had something to prove to the world of my capabilities, but as I aged, my stubbornness has weakened and I’m willing to concede to my limitations. I’m the first to admit, my hard-headed, can-do attitude has gotten me into some sticky situations. This one…..took the cake. Although I’m an intelligent, funny, capable, (and humble) woman……I’m prone to human phenomenon just like anyone else; such as forgetting what I needed in the closet, while I’m staring into the closet trying to remember why I’m even in the room. I’ve also become a world champion at losing my phone and looking for it for ten minutes while complaining to the person on the other end of the line that I can’t find it. (Admit it, you’ve done it too.) But by in large, I am a world champion at either losing my keys or locking them in my car.
After moving to NYC from a small town in Utah, I decided taking on the Big Apple was a worthy cause and something I could easily handle. The traffic was something to behold, and the parking was non-existent.
But I landed a tremendous apartment, and only had to park three blocks away to access it. It felt like a win in June…..come January I was singing a different tune. In order to “blend” and put my best foot forward, on a cold January morning I slipped my manicured toes into a slick pair of black spike heels. I painted on a pencil skirt, threw on a suit coat, and headed out into the winter abyss to conquer the world. Now keep in mind, I really am an intelligent woman, but braving the elements for three blocks didn’t seem extraordinary. I grew up in the “greatest snow on earth”…..this city snow was nothing of great concern.
Although I most likely appeared to be a baby giraffe on stilts moving down the ice-ridden sidewalk, my confidence was high and it felt more like a strut. When I got close enough to my car to hit the auto-start, I
started simultaneously digging in my purse while awkwardly gawking down the road in my too tight skirt, and my gigantic heels. Hmm….they weren’t in the front pocket. Whether it was the cold or the arrogance, I excused the idea that I may have left them in the house. It was too far behind me in my journey, and there was no turning back now. I had places to be, and people to see. I was convinced they were buried beneath all of my weapons I had armed myself with for the day. Makeup, notepads, 324 pens, a pack of tissues, and 3 melted mints from Olive Garden. I could have hidden a small city beneath the garbage, I’m sure they were down there.
And onward through the fog I pressed.
When I arrived at the car, sheltered from the prying eyes of the bystanders taking in my excellence, I began digging in my purse. Slowly and collected at first, but as I began to realize they were not surfacing my search became more frantic. A few minutes passed, and I got to the point of desperation in my search that I did what any normal human would do, I dumped my purse out on the hood of my car. Bound and
determined I wasn’t that scatterbrained. The bitter cold bit through my legs, and tiny pokey hairs began disrupting my smooth and collected demeanor. I vigorously shuffled my random collection of essentials around until my house keys, kept on their own ring, slid across the hood of the car. It was as if it was slow motion, I saw the slide…….I glanced at the sewer grate directly below them, and like a swift eagle, I dove across the hood to catch them mid-air. Nice try Jackie Chan……
The only thing I caught was my skirt on the license plate holder, as it ripped a healthy slit up my backside. I lay there for a while, listening to my keys of salvation bounce through the sewer to the bottom of satans
lair. Olive Garden mint smeared across my sports coat and a draft finding its way across my newly exposed skin. Spare house key? You bet….in the locked car. Car key? Yep, in the locked house. It was a sign of mercy that I didn’t have a wire hanger at that point. There’s a fair chance I would have tried to pick my way into my car, rip up the weather stripping, and finally, resolve to quit life for the day and retiring to the pub two blocks up the road.
All I had at this point was hairy legs, stained clothes, a new take on pencil skirt length, and a cell phone. “Siri”……… ”How can I help you” she responded just a little too joyously for my current mood. I groaned at her and mumbled angrily. “Locksmith Near Me” I would have done the search on my own, but my decision-making skills up until that point hadn’t been exactly exemplary. I was going to take my chances and let my old friend Siri drive. I was fortunate in her selection, and before I knew it Artie’s Locksmith NYC was coming to rescue me from myself.
Looking back, it’s astonishing that the man helping me didn’t laugh hysterically at my predicament. Instead, he offered me a warm place to sit while he opened my apartment, and a ride to my car when I grabbed my
keys. A true professional locksmith. A truly good person. An exceptional company. Don’t underestimate the value of the service providers we don’t use every single day. When you do need them, having one you trust is something you should never take for granted. Artie’s is 24/7, and they are on my speed dial.
Carrie Sorensen, Utah