The day I had to make copies of my keys

“So you would like two copies of this one and one of each of these?”

“Yes, please.”

“Ok, well this last one, I am afraid, is a pricey one.”

“How much would it be?”

“Twenty bucks…”

“That’s ok, I still need it anyways.”

“Ok, I will have them ready for you in a bit.”

“Thank you.”

As he walked out of the front of the store area with my keys, I started looking around at all the merchandise that was advertised around me. Obviously a men’s store, I guess women don’t often have a copy of their keys made. To the left of me was a large supporting post, covered with advertisements for a security system. It even had a little video-screen playing an add with a horribly annoying song, as I would come to realize after hearing it about fifteen times. Behind the, not so conveniently placed post, was the rest of the store area. Not much to show for really. And behind that was the, what I presume to be, office area. Two other people were in there. At least, that is what I guessed because I saw only one, but clearly he was talking to someone else.

I got out my cell and texted my dad:

“Damn key is twenty bucks to copy!”

The key-guy had walked into an area behind the store and after a minute or two I could hear a machine starting to work on my new key. It sounded like a big robotic arm was moving around lots of sharp and spinning parts as I could hear a series of high pitched noises that sounded like scraping metal at a high speed. I waited patiently for my key to be ready.

After a few minutes another guy came from the office area. “Good afternoon.” He said, in a businesslike manner. “I am just going to fix your other keys.” He told me, just in case I was wondering why he had the nerve to step into the store area and talk to me. I nodded and went on my business of looking around the store. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and when I pulled it out it showed a text from my dad:

“Why make a copy if it? I already have one. I need a copy of your balcony-key.”

I texted back saying:

“Left that one at home. Am copying my door-key and my car-key as well.”

After that, I put my cell back into my pocket. It was warm in here, but I couldn’t very well take my coat off. I looked around a little more.

I noticed there were small signs to put on doors such as toilet-indicators, hung from little hooks beneath the counter. “What an odd place to display merchandise.” I thought.

In the meantime I could still hear the noises coming from the back, now going on for at least five minutes and in my head I pictured a huge machine, with just a tiny vertical door in the front. Upon opening the door, a little light would go on and you would see a fiberglass shelf, where the key should go. After closing the door, the machine would then turn on a laser to measure out every corner of the key to a fraction of a millimeter. Then, the key would be transported into the machine and a new key would be processed. This kept me busy for at least another three minutes after which the key-guy returned from the back, with my brand new key. Carefully he placed it in a vice and started sawing a small piece off. You would think with a sophisticated machine, like the one I pictured in my head, the key would come out done, but nothing was further from the truth. After the sawing, the key came out of the vice and now it was time for sandpapering and polishing. He compared the both keys and then looked at me.

“I am sorry, it’s not exact, I need to make a new one. It will be faster though, because this time the key is already in the computer.”

I really had nothing left to say but: “Ok.” I was going to need the key, so I had no other choice then to wait. I pulled out my cell and texted:

“First copy failed, they are making a new one. I now understand why it costs twenty bucks.”

Within a very short time my dad texted back:

“I’ll pay for the new key. Good luck waiting.”

The key-guy had returned from the back now, was looking up something in a cabinet, turning to face me to give me a ‘please-be-patient-smile’ and then returned to the back area again. I texted my dad:

“At least he key guy is hot. I might give him an extra set too.”

After I hit send a thought came to mind: “Am I really texting this to my dad?” It made me smile as I was thinking. My dad texted back:

“Then let him pay for his own copy!”

I chuckled. My other two keys were done by now and the other key-guy returned them and my own keys to me. In the back, the key-machine was purring and chafing and sawing away. I could just see those lasers cutting out the exact measurements.
By now I was getting pretty sweaty in my warm winter-coat. The store was very warm and I had been in it for at least twenty minutes now, waiting for my key.

I saw some advertisement mags sprawled out on the counter and picked one up to kill some time. It was all about home-security systems and the new 2011 standards for securing your home. I put one in my purse for my dad. I knew he was a security-freak.
At long last, the cute key-guy returned from the back with my new key and now, more meticulously then the last time, he was making the final adjustments. This time the key was copied to his satisfaction and he started ringing up the counter for me.

“Sorry it took so long, but the other one was too short.”

“That’s ok.” I cleverly answered, meanwhile giving him a sweet forgiving smile.

“Together it will be thirtyeight dollars and fourty cents please.”

I paid with my debitcard and the cute key-guy gave me all three of my copies. “Oh, can I take one of these?”, I asked, pointing at the mag in my purse, when he handed me my receipt.

“Ofcourse you can!” He said with a smile. “For future reference, usually you do have to ask before you put things in your purse.” He gave me a wide smile and I could feel my face turn red as a lobster. Time to leave the key-store. When I closed the door behind me I remembered I still have to make a copy of my balcony-key. It made me smile all the way to my car.