So last night my neighbor and I took the kids to the local water park and since we were only to be there a few hours, I didn't want to go to the fuss of renting a locker. We stowed all the valuables in the car, locked the car (an important step and one encouraged by law enforcement professionals) and proceeded into the park with towels and, of course, the car key, which I secured in the Velcro pocket of my new swimsuit that I bought largely for the fact it had a Velcro pocket (and the fact my previous swim suit tended to billow in the water in such a way as to become a flotation device around my chest, as well as the way it tended to cling tenaciously to every nook and cranny of my body when I emerged from water, which is not so flattering when you look like me). With key secured, we slid down many slides and took part of the activities in the wave pool, which was mostly bobbing. Emerging, I felt for the key and found it where it should be, in a suit that did NOT cling to my body, thereby sparing nearby strangers the embarrssment of experiencing my shortcomings and feeling the need to give me sympathetic looks. Next up was the lazy river, an attraction in which you float, lazily, in a lazy current. And as I got up from the tube, my hand when automatically to my cro-- er, pocket, and, hmm, no bulge. But I had a key, so there should have been. A bulge, I mean.
No key.
No (expletive deleted for fear of offending censors) key.
Fuck!!!! (Expletive not deleted to express righteous anger).
The authorities were duly informed, who responded quickly and decisively with two guys walking slowly around the lazy river. Surprisingly, they found nothing. Despite their best efforts to appear concerned ("You the guy with the key? Sorry"), we wondered if perhaps we would be better served by telling them one of our kids had just crapped in the lazy river, and they might want to think about draining it if they thought a floating turd might have an effect on the park's reputation. But no, I merely sent out Bryson and Hannah and Ryan to take a few laps and look for it, and they did, informing all those around them what they were doing, so as I waited at the point where people departed the river, I lost track of the number of times I heard, "You the guy who lost the key?" followed by, mumbled of course, "What a dumb shit."
But then out of nowhere, a word of success. They had located a youngster who did indeed recover the lost key, with the word "Toyota" emblazoned upon it and, seized by the opportunity to help his fellow man, promptly tossed it over the fence of an adjacent miniature golf course. Well, initial word was "Tossed." About 20 minutes later, with myself and a lifeguard combing the nearby vegetation, the toss was more accurately described as a "hurl," and then, a bit later, as "He totally whipped it."
Resigning myself to the loss of one key, my friend Paula called our neighbor Julie, who had keys to Paula's house, where there was a garage door opener to my house, inside of which, on a kitchen counter, was a spare set of car keys. Twenty minutes later she arrived, I took possession of said keys, and we were able to escape without ever meeting the fine lad who found the key and mistaked the adjacent miniature golf course for the lost and found department.
And that was my night.