A woman called early this morning, got me out of bed as I ran for the ringing phone, asking to have a key made to her 1992 Nissan Pathfinder. I quoted a price and she then asked if it would cost less if she brought the vehicle to me; tough to do without a key. She then clarified her request, saying she only needed a door key.
We agreed on a price and I asked where she was coming from and found she was fairly close. I gave her directions to my house, “Give me a few minutes to put on some cloths. There’s a law about doing locksmith work naked”, I threw in checking her humor level. Fifteen minutes would give me a chance to brush my teeth and get my eyes focused. I even had enough time to get the trash gathered and out to the street for the early Monday pick up.
She arrived and parked in the driveway where I had a chance to size up her vehicle. The passenger side didn’t have a working door handle and the driver side vertical locking knob had been taped to keep it from accidentally locking. I fetched a key blank from the rack, put a knife edge to it and started to impression the driver side lock figuring it was the only one worth messing with.
A few minutes later I had the combination and the lock turned. I polished the cuts so it turned smoothly only to notice the lock wasn’t hooked up to the linkage; probably old Slim Jim type damage from someone fishing around and unhooking the back of the lock.
I could have taken the door panel off and reattached the linkage. It’s not like it would have been that big a deal; except this woman had an attitude issue which came across real quick. “I ain’t payin’ for no key that don’t make the door open!” I should have reckoned on Monday morning starting out on a sour note as the light rain fell.
I asked if she knew anyone in the body shop business who might assist her in taking off the door panel; all I got back was a look like it was my fault her door was busted on the inside. “I ain’t payin’ for no key that don’t make the door open!”
I smiled quietly wondering how to let her understand that she might have had things go her way had she only been a little less “common”; I believe that covers the thought. If she’d held her tongue for maybe two or three moments I’d have offered to take the door panel off and fixed it as part of being friendly; but no, this woman hadn’t learned that lesson yet.
“Let’s just call this a practice session and call it even”. She backed onto the street once she realized I wasn’t going to fix her broken door for free. I walked up the driveway to my work truck and tossed the impression key in the tool box; figure she might call back later after she gets a little sense, this way I’ve already done the work.
“You just sorta’ wasted my precious time; but don’t think twice, it’s alright” The words of the old song made the loss of a single key blank tolerable; hardly worth getting angry over, “…but don’t think twice, it’s alright.”
I spent almost an hour listening to various versions of the song as I tried to pick the one that would best fit my memories. The Bob Dylan version had a little too much edge to it; Johnny Cash was harsh as well. There were a couple of Peter Paul & Mary recordings that almost hit the nail on the head; but I ended up with a group from Tokyo doing their stage imitation of Peter Paul & Mary, here’s Heart Stream.