The Mr. Quickie Gods must loathe me
Kasi the keys that they made for me don't exactly work and I got locked out of my own office just when I was on my way to my next class and I *really* needed to get something in my room. Who would have known that Mr. Quickie keys don't work? Hell, that's why I went to them instead of the Manong filing keys to perfection at the neighborhood kanto because I thought they were more reliable. So I had a key made and earlier in the day I returned the master key to Sandra, and she went ahead to her class and I went to my class. All was well even though I still don't have a classroom, and some of the kids from the next class was there and I told them I'll just be quick and get the materials for them and then I put in my key and it went in. It turned. So I pushed the door expecting it to open. It didn't. I pushed it some more, and it just wouldn't budge. That's when I realized it just wasn't going to work.
Just then the Utility Guy was coming down the hallway and I stopped him and told him I was locked out. He said I should have asked them to make the key copy because Mr. Quickie keys don't work all the time, even if you got them at the bottomest pit at the Shangrila mall and they have their own guys who are safe and reliable. Lesson well learned. Utility Guy went to the storage and came back with a can of discarded keys. There must have been a hundred or so of them. By this time I was attracting curious stares. Panic was probably written all over my face. Mary Ann came by and I told her I was locked out. Then Third also stopped by. They seemed amused and got around to chatting how long it took them before they got locked out of their own offices. She was locked out after two months, and he had a carefree two years before he became temporarily displaced. I win the cake: I had two days. Yey. Eventually, we found a key that worked. It looks old and rusty, but working so yey for that.
It would have been so uncool if I had to go to class and say, hey my office ate your course outline. Blech.
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