In The Locksmith's Shop

I trotted across the street to the local locksmith’s shop. A friend needed some keys made and it was easier for me to do the job, so I took a few minutes out and the smithy is a friend anyway who I haven’t seen in a while. It’s a comfortable place, laid back and not at all fancy. Just your neighborhood lock and repair business.

The back wall is, quite literally, covered with pegs filled with all sorts of key blanks. Any model of cars, door keys, padlocks, you name it.

I’ve no difficulty with that; my only question is: how do they find the blanks so fast? I came in with three different keys for house doors and the clerk pulled them as quick as you’d like. I realize, as a former disc jockey, they have the blanks organized in just such a manner as to make it very convenient.

After all, I could find my records by type, by artist, by album and even by which side the cut was on – and very quickly. You get to know this. The same goes for a locksmith: many blanks all look alike to us. Many people think all Ray Conniff songs sound alike, but we know the subtle differences which make his pieces different.

I am known for getting into places where I shouldn’t be. A life-long talent. At one time, I was fascinated by locksmithing and my dear mother, bless her heart and rest in peace, replied, when I mentioned it to her, said, “That’s for honest people.” My own mother, mind you. My own mother.