“If I had only known, I would have been a locksmith.”
– Albert Einstein, German Physicist
Is it any wonder it’s become known as a chain? Those jagged-teethed clumps of metallic meant to suggest freedom and influence, all strewn together haphazardly, the very essentials of modern-day raw power.
How terribly ironic — the key to happiness, the key to prosperity, the key to a young starlet’s heart – worthy considerations all. But a word to the wise, in their tangible guises, these keys could likely be clumped about with the likes of the insignificant, the poor cousins.
There are the house keys, the car keys, the office keys, and the all-too-ubiquitous “mystery” key, its longevity devoid of logical justification. “I haven’t used this key in at least five years and I don’t remember why I have it,” the circular reasoning goes. “But it must be important because I’ve had it for five years.”
Faded photo albums and teddy bears have sentimental value, but not keys.
Little known fact, mystery keys seldom realize their potential. They’re all show and no tell, as impractical as a screen door on a submarine. Toss them, tive years rust is a half-decade too long.
And the key-chain concept, itself synonymous with ill-timed hesitation, does no favour to proponents of synergy, for if it is true that the sum of any key chain is greater than the keys themselves. Then the intangible – the created ‘benefit’ – becomes confusion.
All those in favour of granting sainthood to the master key pioneer raise your right hand. Motion passed.
And is that really what the key chain inventor had envisioned at its genesis, a gadget so convenient, so indispensable, yet so overlooked by society that it’ll be lost more often than any other? That a multitude of morons will inevitably misplace it in their apartments, cars, or offices or drop them in department store parking lots or frozen food isles? Imagine this barking out over the public address speakers at your local Walmart: “Paging the owner of a lost set of keys embosomed with the saying, ‘I’m surrounded by idiots!’ You can pick them up at the cashier’s desk across from … from what appears to be an angry mob forming.”
Which brings us to a second point. Crowded key rings alone are not enough for the masochists. No, to them what often makes a key chain worth flaunting is the presence of a distinguishing doohickey. A penlight, for instance, or a politically incorrect phrase.
“It adds character,” they may say. “My name begins with a ‘J’, so I thought it’d be kinda gnarly to go for that gold-plated letter ‘J’ look on my key ring.” How stunningly original.
But ultimately, these fancy contraptions only add to the cumbersome nature of key chains, all the more to sit on accidentally. At just the right angle, protruding key chains do leave a lasting mark on the derriere.
Everyone has his own private crosses to bear.
What of the absentminded ninnies, the mystery-key junkies? Alternatives, anyone? Anyone?
Wouldn’t it be more humane for them to climb through an open window? Or leave doors unlocked? Or, better yet, entertain the illusion of competency by hiding a key under a mat or in a mailbox (the last place criminals look, by the way), all while taping a flagrant “I put the house key either under the front mat or in the mailbox” placard in full view nearby as a gentle reminder to themselves.
And what of the short-tempered fools, these nonsensical, panic-stricken curse mongers at the foot of heaven’s gate, holding six rings full of freedom and influence (but needing only one) with trembling hands? Have they any fate other than the proverbial backward shuffle?
Likely not. Alas, society is slow to heal itself of the unmentionables. For as long as this green and blue globe spins, there will always be grounds for the good, for the righteous, to secure what is theirs. And as long as this perception hangs in our collective conscience, this all-too-invasive meddling metal will remain as our primary protection, a kind of mini-hell fallout from the overall hell we can’t help but create for ourselves every day.
That’s no jiggle.
