Locked Out on Oxford Street

“I’ve been locked out, I’ve been locked in

But I always seem to come back again”

- Neil Finn

"Keys? Tools? Locksmiths - not on Oxford Street Darling!"

My lifelong friend Ailsa had just moved to Sydney.

I hadn’t caught up with my old mate from the OHT for eons.

I could hardly contain the excitement that she was heading over to my Darlinghurst apartment for a catch-up!

It started off with us getting a massage at the Chinese Masseuse joint across the road (one of the MAJOR things I miss about Sydney life) and then we decided we would get a DVD and some dinner.

Feeling a little out of it after the massage we headed back to my pad with DVD and Thai food in hand.

I rustled through my bag for what seemed like an eternity.

A familiar lump began to form in my throat.

I could not find the keys.

The contents of my handbag would make stock-take at Crazy Clint’s look like child’s play so I didn’t want to panic too soon.

I could tell Ailsa was  intrigued by what the hell must be in my handbag as I kept talking away nervously, every moment gaining more awareness of the fact I had locked us out.

My phone was inside and I had no money for a locksmith, no spare key no chance of climbing through a window as I lived on the third floor.

“Ummmmm… Ailsa….”

“Yeah?” she asked in her usual upbeat manner

“I haven’t got my keys”

“You sure?” she asked politely while I am convinced was thinking “Bloody hell you never change Montgomery”

I sat down on the pavement and preceded to empty out the contents of my bag.

This was an embarrassing moment, like I was emptying the contents of my soul.

Except my soul doesn’t contain excessive amounts of hairbands nor a glass I had inadvertently bagged from a nearby pub.

I felt terrible, there wasn’t a solution in sight.

“I am SO sorry, ” I told her

Not wanting to accept the news Ailsa insisted I kept looking in every compartment.

“No, I know they are not in there – what are we going to do!!”

We had nothing.

We decided the only crazy thing we could do was to walk  Oxford Street and ask every person we pass if they were a locksmith or if they might know one.

It was hysterical.

Most people gave us an odd look when we stopped them on the street : “Excuse me, this might seem like a strange question, but… are you by any chance a locksmith?”

“Ummm.. no I’m not,” a young unsuspecting guy answered

“Well you should become one, you’d make a good one!” I said cheekily – before Ailsa and I broke into laughter.

Ailsa would feel embarrassed by my cheek and then go on to explain to this stranger what had happened.

As we are explaining the mishap a group of young party people walked past.

Ailsa hams it up and announces to the group we are on the hunt for a locksmith.

They all burst into laughter and we go on to explain. By this time Ailsa and I are really in our element talking up our dilemma to an audience.

Unfortunately, there was  only drunken plumbers and accountants among them, not a locksmith in sight.

Ailsa and I were doing what we do best, making the best of a bad situation.

We kept walking along asking strangers the locksmith question. We’d occasionally pop our heads into convenient stores only to discover they were not so convenient.

Suddenly I had a light bulb moment.

A moment that could only strike one whilst walking Oxford Street Sydney.

“The Tool Shed!” I exclaimed “Maybe they will have the right tools?!”

Ailsa cracked up.

I was serious.

“Lateral thinking” I explained.

Next thing I know Ailsa and I take the stairway to the Tool Shed.

Boobs and bums surrounded us as we beelined for the main desk giggling like the school kids we once were.

“This is going to sound really weird” I said before bursting into uncontrollable laughter…

“But,” Ailsa took over “You wouldn’t happen to have any tools to help us get into our house? We are locked out!”

The shop assistant saw the humour in the situation as we explained  we had no money or phone so literally had to walk around asking!

The Tool Shed had seemed  so crazy it might just work?

Uh-huh. Just crazy.

We left the Tool Shed and made our way to the next obvious choice.

The gay bar upstairs.

It was actually my local haunt as one of my mates worked behind the bar there. I was hoping he would be working there that night and would know someone who knew someone kinda thing.

Unfortunately he wasn’t working that night but his mate in a dress and heels was.

It was drag night and here we were, my long lost school mate and I standing in a gay men’s bar asking massive blokes in dresses if they were locksmiths or could help us get into our house.

Why didn’t we come here sooner?

We had people flocking around us trying to help!

Two straight blokes even tried to pick us up while we were in there one claiming his mate was a locksmith – but not in the country at that moment.

Whilst sipping on a donated cocktail  I had a light-bulb moment!

“I know!” I said to Ailsa, ”Keiren might have a key!”

The apartment I was living in was previously lived in by one of my good friends who now lived more centrally in the city.

I called her up immediately. She wasn’t sure if she had a key still… but she did have a key that could possibly be the key but she couldn’t promise was the key.

Bugger it.

It was the only hope we had.

She lived a way off – but we had no choice but to walk there.

We walked and walked and walked to my friend’s place and took the key hoping upon hoping it would get us into the apartment!

No time to chat with Keiren we thanked her and took the long blistery trek back to the apartment.

I felt like Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory wondering if my packet of chocolate was going to contain the golden ticket.

As we approached the door I theatrically presented the key to the door, said a little prayer and popped it in the keyhole.

Ailsa was squinting, afraid to look.

The make or break us key...

Jiggle, jiggle…

It OPENED!!!

We did a little crazy dance up and down the steps laughed like maniacs and collapsed on the lounge.

We just looked at each other and cracked up, exhausted.

Ailsa was busting to go to the loo, and I don’t know what made me do it – but I looked in a part of my bag that I hadn’t bothered checking earlier…. and…. yep…..  my KEY HAD BEEN IN THERE ALL ALONG!!!

I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t know whether or not I should reveal this to Ailsa fearing she may be within her rights to kill me.

I couldn’t keep it in.

When she returned from the bathroom I looked at her nervously and announced “Guess what Ailsa,”

“What?” she asked flopping onto the beanbag.

“I just found the key”

“Where was it?”

“Oh, just in my bag” I said casually

She had no words for a bit but in true ‘why I love Ailsa’ form she looked at me genuinely and said

“You know what Sharni? I would not have had tonight any other way.”

And either would I.