--- The Fortuitous Return of Lost Things ---
Our story begins, dear reader, with our heroine's need to dispatch a couple of important errands the like of which required the attendance at a branch of the BNZ (that's the Bank of New Zealand for our foreign readers) and the Post Office (which I believe is unlikely to require translation).
It seemed sensible to park the car between the two venues which were separated by a distance of about 500 metres and this done, she proceeded first to the BNZ where the required deposit was made to ensure that her life insurance was up to date and then to the Post Office where a disc of photos was sent to her aunt documenting the family party on New Years Eve. In all, this took probably a total of 20 minutes, once the distance was walked and the queues endured. The errands were duly done and the last on the long list of jobs to be done while on holiday was finally sealed up.
However, it was upon leaving the Post Office that our heroine realised that she no longer appeared to be in possession of the car keys. A dilemma in anyone's books, but particularly disconcerting as the alternate set of keys were some 1127 kilometres (700 miles) away in possession of the car's actual owner on holiday herself in the town of Ashburton.
It is no small thing to have a spare, to be sure... but for it to be so far away was a challenge in that a) the car was parked on a busy main road and would be towed if left too long and b) the car was our heroine's means of transport to the airport at 3.15am on Sunday to be left there to in return to be the means of its owner's transportation home from the airport at 4pm later that day. No question, the car needed to be accessible BEFORE then or all manner of costs would accrue...
Without deferring to an initial position of panic a quick pivot on one's heel was executed to go back to the Post Office to collect the item which was surely left on the counter only minutes before...
Er...
That being so it seemed logical instead to duck back to the bank to collect them then from there...
Er...
And so, back to the Post Office, via the car to make sure they hadn't been left inside... a situation which would not have been ideal but would have been better then than not being able to get to them at all...
Er...
It is at this point that the exclamations started to get a bit more agitated, when a few of them had a panicky edge and which alternated between, "Oh shit, what am I going to do if they don't show up?" and "Oh God, please get me out of this mess!".
Breathing deeply our heroine went once more to the Post Office, scanning every bit of pavement on the way in case it transpired that they had in fact, been dropped from her hand/pocket/purse... still no luck.
The Post Office employees were alternately concerned to see her reappear and helpful in turning the public areas upside down in the hope they would appear... and all areas where she had stepped were duly retraced, the package she had posted was also reopened just in case they'd been posted across town... still no luck.
*good air in... bad air out... good air in... bad air out... oh...shit... oh... God... oh... help...*
Finally, giving up, the poor girl asks the Postal Officer for a pen and paper and writes down her contact details, just in case someone comes in with them... a faint hope... and she starts a text message to her sister, one that started with "Don't Panic"... (another faint hope, as it happens) and just as she did the door opened and a man with a Canadian sounding voice approached the counter asking,
"Have you had anyone come in looking for their keys? I'm embarrassed to admit I picked them up and put them in my pocket absently thinking they were mine!"...
Our relieved heroine turned to the older gentleman and took them from his hand confessing that she was torn between kissing him and crying her eyes out (but did neither) and walked out the door with him thanking him profusely as she did... and uttered a prayer of thanks and a huge sigh of relief returning to the car and hurried home for a stiff drink and a breather.
Our story begins, dear reader, with our heroine's need to dispatch a couple of important errands the like of which required the attendance at a branch of the BNZ (that's the Bank of New Zealand for our foreign readers) and the Post Office (which I believe is unlikely to require translation).
It seemed sensible to park the car between the two venues which were separated by a distance of about 500 metres and this done, she proceeded first to the BNZ where the required deposit was made to ensure that her life insurance was up to date and then to the Post Office where a disc of photos was sent to her aunt documenting the family party on New Years Eve. In all, this took probably a total of 20 minutes, once the distance was walked and the queues endured. The errands were duly done and the last on the long list of jobs to be done while on holiday was finally sealed up.
However, it was upon leaving the Post Office that our heroine realised that she no longer appeared to be in possession of the car keys. A dilemma in anyone's books, but particularly disconcerting as the alternate set of keys were some 1127 kilometres (700 miles) away in possession of the car's actual owner on holiday herself in the town of Ashburton.
It is no small thing to have a spare, to be sure... but for it to be so far away was a challenge in that a) the car was parked on a busy main road and would be towed if left too long and b) the car was our heroine's means of transport to the airport at 3.15am on Sunday to be left there to in return to be the means of its owner's transportation home from the airport at 4pm later that day. No question, the car needed to be accessible BEFORE then or all manner of costs would accrue...
Without deferring to an initial position of panic a quick pivot on one's heel was executed to go back to the Post Office to collect the item which was surely left on the counter only minutes before...
Er...
That being so it seemed logical instead to duck back to the bank to collect them then from there...
Er...
And so, back to the Post Office, via the car to make sure they hadn't been left inside... a situation which would not have been ideal but would have been better then than not being able to get to them at all...
Er...
It is at this point that the exclamations started to get a bit more agitated, when a few of them had a panicky edge and which alternated between, "Oh shit, what am I going to do if they don't show up?" and "Oh God, please get me out of this mess!".
Breathing deeply our heroine went once more to the Post Office, scanning every bit of pavement on the way in case it transpired that they had in fact, been dropped from her hand/pocket/purse... still no luck.
The Post Office employees were alternately concerned to see her reappear and helpful in turning the public areas upside down in the hope they would appear... and all areas where she had stepped were duly retraced, the package she had posted was also reopened just in case they'd been posted across town... still no luck.
*good air in... bad air out... good air in... bad air out... oh...shit... oh... God... oh... help...*
Finally, giving up, the poor girl asks the Postal Officer for a pen and paper and writes down her contact details, just in case someone comes in with them... a faint hope... and she starts a text message to her sister, one that started with "Don't Panic"... (another faint hope, as it happens) and just as she did the door opened and a man with a Canadian sounding voice approached the counter asking,
"Have you had anyone come in looking for their keys? I'm embarrassed to admit I picked them up and put them in my pocket absently thinking they were mine!"...
Our relieved heroine turned to the older gentleman and took them from his hand confessing that she was torn between kissing him and crying her eyes out (but did neither) and walked out the door with him thanking him profusely as she did... and uttered a prayer of thanks and a huge sigh of relief returning to the car and hurried home for a stiff drink and a breather.
I can so hear you saying "oh Shit, Oh Help!" LMAO!!! Having lost my own keys on Sunday morning, I have a fair idea of how you felt... in fact, now I think about it.... I lost my Dad's keys in much the same fashion in Chch a few Christmases ago. Turned out I left them in the music shop after admiring several flutes. Typical.