A guy comes in panicked. He was here a week or so ago BUT he couldn’t get his key to open the lock. No matter HOW long he stayed and how HARD he tried. I’m telling you the guy was in a full blown tizzy.
He confirms, eight times during this trip that, if he STILL can’t open his lock with the key he KNOWS is the one that I can cut it off. I assure him, eight times, I can and will gladly do so.
If only to make him go the fuck away.
He’s freaking out that someone did something to his lock OR his key OR both! I explain that keys do, indeed, wear out.
Just like patience, I thought. But did not mention.
He goes out to try the lock and is away for much longer than it would take to put a key in a lock, turn, find success or not. I watched him on the monitor and he was really giving it the old college try. Work it for a few seconds, step back, assess the situation and tackle it again. That went on for another ninety seconds or so before he decided, glumly, to give up the ghost and kiss this experiment in terror goodbye.
I take the bolt cutter and follow him. He asks me to look at the lock as if I have x-ray vision capable of seeing through locks to deduce the trouble.
Sadly, I didn’t need x-ray vision to deduce the trouble.
I take his key, put it in the lock, turn, and, the part he didn’t seem to understand, pull it open.
Oh, but if you think that’s all, you are sorely mistaken!
He tells me to stay to see if he, himself, with no outside assistance, can pull off that remarkable feat. One he’s been working on for, combining the two times, near five minutes.
He puts in the key, nerves jangle. He plants his feet into the proper lock opening position. Turns the key and. . .I turned quickly so as not to make eye contact.
I was afraid all the words in my head would spill from my mouth like a cooler full of caustic Dummyaid if I dared eye contact.