Locked

A week from today, I rode up to campus on my bike before my GRE class. I went to lock it to the bike rack but realized Eric had taken our one good bike lock for his bike that morning (we have two...but one, the one on my bike...has a non-existent key). Scared to leave it unlocked, I fiddled with the lock to make it "look locked." I was thinking I was so clever until I heard a "click" and realized what happened. Needless to say, I spent the entire past week stressing over how I was going to get my bike back. Yes, it has been locked on BYU campus for a week while I've walked to and from work and classes everyday. I seem to have a talent for locking things when I don't have keys. Like the times I've locked my door and gotten to my car, only to realize that my house keys and car keys are locked inside my apartment. One day I spent four hours sitting on my doorstep, waiting for my hubby to get off work so I could get inside my apartment. Oh, and the time I locked his AND my keys in the house. Or the other time I left my apartment just in time to drive to a final I was already running late for, just to realize I left the keys inside the house. Locked. And Eric was fast asleep, inside. No matter how much door banging you do at six in the morning, you won't hear it when you sleep with earplugs. I learn things the hard way, but we always laugh at them later. Anyways...
A few friends suggested calling BYU police to cut my bike lock, but that always makes me nervous because every time I look their phone number up it says, "For emergencies or to report a crime dial..." and so I usually chicken out. To complicate things more, the bike isn't even mine. We've been borrowing it from a friend...who came over to dinner Sunday. And all I could say was,

So ... we decided we better REGISTER the bike first, since it is parked on campus, and then I would have to muster up the guts to call the police. So finally, a week later, I walk into the parking office to register my bike. Things are going great until the lady asks a question about the serial number and I get a funny look. "Don't you have your bike? Can you go get it so we can look at it? Where is it?" So I sigh deeply and tell her the story. 

Turns out, you can't have a police cut your lock off without proof of it being your bike. Which means it has to be registered. I stood there biting my lip while the lady talked to her boss, and then his boss, and then the head cop. Was it really that big of a deal? Finally she turns to me and says, "You have such an honest face and a pure heart, we'll just trust you." 

Ten minutes later I was climbing into the front seat of a police car to drive down to the racks and have my bike cut. It was a little humbling as all the students around were looking at me get in thinking 'wonder what she did'. I guess there is a first time for everything. 

Thankfully the officer was really nice and we talked about all kinds of things. I found out he played rugby for BYU back in the 70's and he told me some neat stories about living in Portland and his 12 grandchildren. After trying ten minutes to cut the thick cord on the lock off, we still had no luck. I was beginning to think it wouldn't happen, when the lock just decided to unlock itself and pull apart. The cord still wasn't cut, and the lock wasn't broken. Or locked, apparently. He just smiled and looked up at me, and I, felt pretty stupid. Long story short, I learned a few small lessons today. 

1) Never lock a lock that you don't have a key to.

2) The BYU police are really nice.

3) Riding in a police car, even when you're innocent, is embarrassing.

4) If you think it's locked, pull harder. It probably is unlocked, and then you can save yourself seven days of stressing about how to get an unlocked lock...unlocked.