Most people don’t get all that excited about mail after the age of sixteen to eighteen, mostly because that is when you start getting junk mail, more and more junk mail. I have definitely had my share, pre-approval cards, smart shopper coupon books and endless advertisements. There is some excitement if you ordered something online and are anxiously awaiting its arrival or if you know some one has sent you something, but mostly we know that when we open the mailbox, there will not only be the advertisements, but also the bills. Every time I open the mailbox, I am reminded that I have pre-spent much of my income; on the 5 years of university schooling, trips to foreign countries and communication. Do I really pay just to be able to talk to people? And how much did I spend on my phone?
Back to the point, the mailbox could potentially contain some day threatening material. So when I lost the mail key, I didn’t think of it as an important loss. I would just find it in a couple days, call the property management, or pay for a new one at the post office. A few days went by, and I still couldn’t find the key. I had to mail a letter to some one, or maybe even pay a bill. I walked into the post office in downtown Boulder on the corner of 15th and Walnut to mail the letter and to see if they had a key for our mailbox. The woman at the counter said that she wasn’t sure if she had the key because it was out of their delivery area. She came back from the back room without a key, and no new answers as to how I was going to replace the key.
A few more days went by, and I had to go to the post office that delivered to our apartment complex because the second motorcycle helmet that I had ordered was waiting there in a locker. It had been delivered earlier that week and I had to get there before they sent it back. It had only taken about thirty-three days to get the delivery, and I didn’t want it to get sent back to sender, as Thailand is a pretty long way. While there I thought to inquire about the mail key, she went back to get the parcel and check to see if they had the keys for our mailboxes. Apparently, the mailboxes at our complex aren’t owned by the USPS, so they don’t have the keys.
At least an answer that begins to point me elsewhere. I let Justin, my flat-mate, know that I was having no luck with the key and that he needed to send off an email to the owner of our condo to see if she had a copy of the key. The day after, he received her response. She had also lost the key when she was living in the apartment and had to have a locksmith come by and replace the lock.
I had no other choice at this point. I had to pony up so I could have the excitement of unlocking the box to find bills and junk mail. The locksmith I called quoted me a fifty-five dollar charge just for showing up, and wouldn’t give even an estimate as to what it would cost. The second call I made was a sixty-five dollar minimum charge. I was beginning to think that telling the first locksmith that if they wouldn’t quote me a price, they had no chance in pulling it in. To the third locksmith, again a fifty-five dollar minimum, and they were going to give me a call back for a quote. A much better chance, I was willing to wait for a minute to get the quote. After about fifteen minutes of waiting I decided to take a look at the yahoo yellow pages one more time. There was a locksmith not but a few blocks from the house. I thought that while I waited for the others to call, I would try this last one, Alpha Locksmith. He answered the phone himself – the first locksmith to do so – and seemed to be a nice guy on the phone. Already having that in his favor, I asked if he could give me a quote on putting a new lock in the mailbox. He said that his fee for just coming out was twenty-five dollars. I liked the sound of this, already thirty dollars less expensive than the others. He continued explaining, “I don’t usually replace the locks, I usually make new keys for the existing lock.”
I couldn’t pass this up, a master locksmith. I asked how soon I could set up an appointment. We settled on twenty minutes from the end of the call. I gave him my information and he was there in twenty minutes. Well, almost there. He was a bit hard of hearing and misheard my address, called from around the corner and asked again where I was. I asked him to sit tight and explained the clothing I had on. Rounding the corner I heard his voice. We walked easily over to the little shelter for our mailboxes chatting about his hearing and the fact that I don’t even know how to follow the numbering system in our complex. I showed him which mailbox was mine. He opened up his bag, similar to the house-visiting bag doctors used to carry, picked out two tools that he used to pick the lock. He gave me my mail, popped the lock out, and we walked back towards his unmarked, white van. He said he would bring the keys to me as soon as he finished. I offered to stay down by the truck so he wouldn’t have to bring the key to the apartment, but he knew it would take him a few minutes more than I may have been willing to wait. I sat in my apartment playing a bit on the nylon string guitar that my aunt had given me. After about ten minutes, he brought up the key and said in an almost fatherly tone, “Don’t keep these together. Separate them now.” I assured him that I would and placed the keys on the table where I keep my keys and my helmet.
Having finished his work, I needed to pay him, and asked how much it was. He thought for a moment and replied with the surprising thirty-five dollars, less than all the others had stated was their fee to simply show up at the apartment. We talked for a minute about my picking of the guitar and his picking of locks, both arts in their own right. I wrote out the check for the mentioned price, but wanted to give a tip. It ended up being only five dollars, but he was grateful none-the-less. He bid goodbye and I closed the door and called a friend to let him know that the book I had promised had in the mail. After leaving a message for him, I received one myself.
“Yeah hey, this is uh Gary, your favorite locksmith. Um thanks again for the tip and uh here’s a tip for you, your mailman is at your mailbox right now so you might have some more mail. So, uh, again have a good weekend and chat with you later. Bye.”
I later talked to Peter Jullian about the experience. He had a similar experience with a garage door repairman. The guy even helped carry his extraordinarily heavy treadmill up the stairs. Simple artists at their trades and good people too. It helps appreciate their work as well.
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