Coming Out Of Retirement [FICTOID]

Mrs. Chong brought her 18-month old daughter in, placed her in a high chair, set her purse on the table, then stepped into the garage to unload her car.

The door closed and clicked shut behind her.

Mrs. Chong instantly realized what happened and futilely tried the door.

Locked, of course.

She knew the sliding glass door to the patio and the downstairs windows were all locked, as was the front door.  She and her husband meant to have an extra key made and hidden in the garage for just such a contingency but never got around to it.

Mrs. Chong pressed her ear against the door.  She could hear her child crying out, wondering where mommy went.

Call a locksmith, was her first thought, followed by:  You idiot!  Your phone is in your purse!

Her husband was a half hour away.  If their neighbor could call a local locksmith who could get here faster…

Mrs. Hernandez, her next door neighbor in the complex, answered the bell.  “What’s the matter?” she asked, seeing how frantic Mrs. Chong was.

“I need you to call a locksmith!” Mrs. Chong said, quickly explaining the situation with the door and her daughter (not to mention the thawing frozen food in the trunk of her car).

“I can do that,” Mrs. Hernandez said, “but I was talking to Mrs. Wilson over in the next cul de sac the other day.  Her elderly retired uncle just moved in with them and apparently he knows something about locks.”

Realizing that would be faster than calling a locksmith, the two women hurried to the Wilsons’ townhouse.

A wizened old man answered the door, Mrs. Wilson’s uncle.  “Yeah?” he said, looking at them suspiciously.

Mrs. Chong quickly explained the situation again.  The old man’s suspicious expression melted away.  “Sure, I can help.  Give me a moment to get my lockpick.”

It seemed like an eternity to Mrs. Chong as the old man went upstairs, rummaged around in his room, and returned with his lockpick set.

They went to her garage as fast as the old man could move, which seemed like a glacial pace to Mrs. Chong.  By the time they reached the garage they could hear her daughter crying on the other side of the door.

The old man bent over, opened his lockpick, and in less than a minute the door swung open.

Mrs. Chong rushed in, picked up and comforted her daughter.

As soon as the child stopped crying she asked the old man:  “How much do I owe you?”

The old man smiled and made a dismissive gesture.  “Think nothing of it.  That’s what neighbors are for.  I’m just glad I was able to help.”

“Well, thank you!  Thank you so much,” said Mrs. Chong.  “I hear you’re retired.  Were you a locksmith?”

“No, a burglar.”

© Buzz Dixon