@shahnm Ha ha, well youngster, as men age their prostate expands so urges to pee are stronger and more frequent. Something about coming home triggers that so I have to rush to get to the toilet before things get messy. So the keys end up on the bathroom counter.
/get off my lawn (or, as I like to call it–nature’s urinal)
@shahnm@therealjrn keys are out to open the door. i’m a woman but have definitely thrown the keys on the bathroom counter a number of times. (our bathroom is literally right inside the door.) nothing like being in the car for 2+ hours in traffic and then getting home having to pee real bad and still having to unlock two doors, get up three flights of stairs and unlock a final third door…and hope my partner isn’t in the bathroom already. definitely no time to put keys away lol. sometimes i don’t even shut the apartment door behind me. purse usually ends up on the bathroom floor.
Ok, here’s my story. My Dad died just a bit over a year ago. While we were sorting through the house, we found these gorgeous old pieces of wood in the garage:
I’ll snip out a long discussion of what we know about these boards, except that they are at least 50 years old. I was pondering what to do with them, and my Uncle came to mind (not Dad’s brother…Mom’s).
He’s a woodworker, and is pretty talented. He agreed to take the wood on-board and find something to do with it.
Also snipping out a long discussion of what to do with it.
This awesome little table greets me when I come in the door now, where it holds the old 1940’s phone that was at my grandma’s house and my keys. End of story!
When my dad was a young fella in Eugene, Oregon, he had a job at the planing mill, where they were slowly working their way through the old growth Douglas Fir that Oregon had been storing up for hundreds of years.
He was heading off to college soon, and the story seems to be that he used these old planks as bookshelves (with cinder blocks, natch…remember this was 1958 or so) when he went off to college in 1960. He was thrifty and a bit of a never-throw-anything-useful-out kind of fella, so he kept these. In his garage. For decades.
The wood was absolutely gorgeous, and I’m beyond thrilled to have it in an honored place in my life. Super stoked that my uncle was able to make it into something so beautiful. I’m also a bit of a hippie (grew up in Eugene) so I’m sincere about respecting the lives of the trees. They deserved better, but this is a legacy I can feel good about.
I immediately tear through the multiverse, checking my pocket in all the nearest parallel dimensions until I find which one has made off with my keys. Some of my other versions of me have started to remember me, and one saw me coming and hit me with some kind of sonic stun weapon while saying something about not taking his fifth set of keys.
I’ve gotten the keys to some weird shit that way. Also, one time I moved the sofa and found like nineteen sets of keys in the cushions
I try to always hang my keys (that are on a lanyard) on our front door door knob. That way I can literally grab a go! …because I’m always running late to everything… but honestly I do forget to put them on there sometimes and it’s those sometime that I’m getting this doohickey for hope it works.
i don’t ever put keys in my pocket so bit of a moot point from the start. my partner and i share one set of keys so they’re usually with him at work. but if i have them they’re in my purse. at home they go in the key bowl. the only time i’ve ever “lost” my keys was accidentally locking them in the car or the apartment.
The same place on the shelf just inside my door where they always are. They’re the first thing I drop off when I walk in and the last thing I grab on the way out. Outside my place, my vehicle has a keyless ignition, so they’re either in my pocket or the console.