Ironic Misfortune
Everything I learned in locksmith school was important to me. The variety of
tools intrigued and amazed me, especially when I discovered that using tools didn't
require very much strength as I had previously thought. I bolstered with pride that I
was learning the mysterious secrets of the ancient trade. In my earlier years, I had
dropped out of high school, consequently; my choice of jobs were limited. The
prospect of an occupation other then tolerating the clumsy drooling drunks that
frequented the lounges at which I had worked, delighted me. The Institute of Lock
Technology was going to prosper me, free my evenings, and guide me into a
successful career that I could take pride in.
Three months later I earned my certificate and I rushed to the county licensing
agency to obtain my new status, a locksmith. The license gave me authority to carry
special tools that they bar other citizens from owning. This detail was meaningful
because it made me feel special and confirmed that I had achieved a bonafide trade.
Next I headed to Armstrong Lock & Safe, a wholesaler to lock smiths, and stepped
in to open an account. After ordering a small fortune worth of picks, Slim Jims and
a variety of other specialty tools, I smugly entered Tool Town to request a
sophisticated twelve volt, battery operated, power drill and some Lenox hole saws.
My last stop was Home Depot where I purchased drill bits, tool boxes and a Dewalt
jig saw. Despite the unappreciated help from the salesmen I managed to find
exactly what I was looking for. I knew tools, tool brands and tool usage and I was
annoyed with male personnel who insisted on advising me.
When I got home, I was excited to hear the mes...
... middle of paper ...
...to call my new boss
because I wasn't sure if I would still have the job since I couldn't get into my own
truck. Defeated and humiliated, I hitched a ride home and found my spare key. I
woke up a neighbor to drive me back to my running truck. I arrived to work two
hours late. I apologized to my boss with no explanation. He hesitated and gave me a
blank look. I knew he wanted a reasonable explanation. I looked back at him as a
thousand possible excuses raced through my head. My choice seemed clear; a lame
excuse or the truth, but the truth was so ridiculous. Impelled by my morality, I
spilled the incident into the shop for all to hear. He gazed at me with amazement
and tried to control himself, but a slight chuckle slipped through painfully tight lips.
Soon the chuckle became an uncontrollable laugh. In fact, we laughed all day about
the predicament.