next time i'll know where to look

I was over at my parents house the other night, and upon deciding that it was time to exit I headed out for my car. I reached into my pocket to grab the keys and, to my dismay, they weren't there. My keys pretty much go straight from ignition to pocket. So when they weren't to be found there, the number of other available choices were pretty much exhausted.

Back into the house I went, where I made a careful scrutiny of all the places I had gone for the short time I had been there. Kitchen, bathroom, basement, family room. All checked with no luck.

By this time, my mom had spotted me rooting around throughout the house, asked what I was doing, and joined in the search. Good old mom, always willing to pitch in. Unfortunately, her help turned out to be not too much help. Though she was the one that came up with the suggestion that perhaps my keys got tossed into the trash with the remaining Quizno Sub remains that had adorned the kitchen table earlier. And I thought, 'hmmm, she may have something here', because I had gone straight to the kitchen to eat when I first walked through the door.

I realize this makes me sound like quite the mooch...but hey, isn't part of the whole 'parents' deal providing for their young? I think so. They provided, and the subs were quite tasty.

So following up on her suggestion, I trudged out to the curb in the hopes of finding the correct garbage bag. It happened to be trash night, otherwise the whole task would have been much easier due to the fact that the garbage would have still been in the kitchen can.

I found the bag and proceeded to muck around in search of my keys. Mom, God love her, was right there rooting around with me. Though all of our garbage hunting came up with nothing. So mom came with me, flashlight in hand, to search through my car (again)...seat cushions, floor, ashtray, to hunt around in the hopes of finding a nook that I missed.

Now, by this time I was pretty much resigned to the fact that all my keys, door, deadbolt, car, were gone. Sick with the thought of replacing, at a cost, all these keys, I couldn't help but be a little bit ticked off at dear old dad...who was parked in front of his computer through my whole painful, gut wrenching, agonizing ordeal. He didn't lift a finger to help. Not even an offer. And it's not as if I thought it would do any good, rather it was the thought. All I really wanted was for him to simply go through the motions to at least feign helpfulness. Much like when I'm driving down the street. If someone is going to cross in front of my car, they better damn well act like they're hustling. Nothing is more irritating than people who take their good old time sauntering in front of your 45 mph vehicle, as if they own the road. Honestly, the people acting like they're running may be, in reality, going slower than the saunterers, but at least they're giving the illusion of hurrying. This is really all I ask for.

And this illusion is all I really wanted of dad. At least pretend like you're concerned, then you can get back to the internet.

So, done with his on-line travels, dad moseyed on upstairs to watch television. I was outside with mom still searching in vain. And as I headed back in, resigned to the fact that I would be spending the night, dad strolls over to the door with my keys in his hand.

"I found them in the seat cushion in front of the TV", he told me...very matter-of-factly I might add.

Now this is the same chair that I searched three times. And then physically moved to look under it. And didn't find my keys. Yet dad sits down and 'bingo' there they are. Granted, this chair was specifically designed to empty out your pockets upon resting your rear onto it. It's one of those that tilt back at a steep angle, causing gravity to take it's toll on loose change, pocket knives, and my keys. Knowing this, I searched this chair several times...but apparently not good enough.

And I felt like quite the schmuck, having thought poorly of dad for not bothering to lift a finger to help, yet here he was, the savior of my keys. Feeling ashamed for these thoughts...thoughts that a 'good' child would never have...I thanked him profusely, said my good-byes, and made a hasty exit. And yes, next time I'll try not to judge dad too harshly.

Though, I still think that he could at least pretended.