key to my comfort

Little angers me more than when people steal stuff from me. Though, whether through my cautious ways or (more likely) because of God's protection, it doesn't happen all that often.

Today's theft is more amusing than anything. At my office, we have to use bathroom keys to access either of two loos right outside the office doors that we share with the other suites on the third floor of the National Press Building. Rumor has it, a homeless person wandered up there and fell asleep one night, so we now have to carry around, and keep track of, a special little key. At least it's not another code. My poor little brain can't handle yet another code. I think I create a new identity every time I visit certain Web sites because I can't remember my login name, but that's another story.

I frequently leave my little key in the bathroom. Awhile back, I decided to risk putting the key on my regular keychain -- the one that also has my car key and my house key, and since my significant other cannot always be counted upon to have his at any given time, it's rather important that I not forget them. That plan worked pretty well. Recently, a coworker went to Hollywood Beach, Fla., and brought me back a keychain with my name on it. Cool! I transferred my potty key to that chain so as to give it some use. Today, I left it on the bathroom counter. I retrieved it an hour or two later.

I just went to use the bathroom again. And discovered that someone had parted key from keychain during its short stint away from me. There is no other way it could come off, and as harebrained as I feel these days, I know I wouldn't have taken my key off without remembering having done so.

Ahhh, life in the National Press Building. I love it. I'm not sure which is worse -- the vague threat of being a terrorist target, or having to keep track of my key every workday. Yep, too close to call.