KEYED UP

My life on a loop.

My wife would happily confirm that my leaps to conclusion can be positively Olympian. So when, during a recent gig, I appeared to have lost the chain that holds the keys to the locks on four doors, three storage lockers, a mailbox, a bike, and a few things I'm not certain I even own anymore, my life appeared completely upended. 

After taking stock of my situation (while accompanied by a severe case of tachypnea), I drew up a mental to-do list:

• Get wife's keys copied. 
• Buy new bike chain. 
• Bust old bike chain. 
• Buy new storage locks. 
• Bust old storage locks.
• Get replacement "senior citizen discount" grocery store tags. 
• Make half a dozen copies of each key. 
• Put new keys somewhere I'll remember them (a difficult task at best).
  
• Walk around looking like a janitor with a jangly keychain on my pants' belt loop 24/7. 

No wonder why people tell muggers, "Take the wallet, just let me have my keys." When faced with the loss of money, credit cards and cellphone vs. that of keys, you learn what's really valuable. 

Buying new locks and getting the keys copies would be easy enough. But what about busting those storage locks? That would require outside help. Figuring that "busting" was a little declassee, I Googled "breaking locks near me." 

The most appropriate hardware store for me.

There appeared to be no end to businesses in my neighborhood devoted to breaking and entering. No prices were given, which lead me to think that a two-minute job would lead to a three-figure bill. It would probably be cheaper to rent a tool myself from a hardware store. 

I returned to the Google machine and typed the phrase "How to break open chains and locks." 

Of course -- a bolt cutter! Why didn't I think of that before? I've seen enough old crime movies to know a good criminal tool.

None of this proved to be necessary, since I found the keys after a more thorough look through my suitcase. Normally, this would be the time to say sonorously, "This case is closed". However, you've probably learned by now that there is nothing normal about me.

Not that Shazam (although it fits me to a tee).

The following day, I was listening to a podcast when an interesting, kind of goofy instrumental piece began to play. Needing to know what I was listening to, I whipped out my Shazam (a phrase that would have been used 40 years ago in a letter to Penthouse.) 

The song, Shazam informed me, was "Mindy's Playroom" by Deux Filles. It was worth a Google to learn if it was available for download... until the memory of the previous evening stopped me cold.

If it was true that certain words typed into search engines trigger red flags for investigative agencies, this is what my most recent trail would look like:

Breaking locks near me. 

How to open chains and locks.

Mindy's Playroom.

Gulp. Make that gulp to the tenth power. No way was I going to search for a song that would likely be the crowning event leading to a visit from the feds. If I'm going to download "Mindy's Playroom", it would be after things cooled down first.

Wait -- did I just type the phrase "download 'Mindy's Playroom'"? I better start Googling "cheap lawyers near me".

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