Best Little What in Texas?
Locksmiths share all sorts of tales with me by e-mail and at various
locksmith gatherings across
the country. Some are one of a
kind; others have a certain ring
of duplicity to them that sometimes makes me wonder if everybody is circulating the same
forwarded material around and
around on the Internet.
Every once in a while, the
trend seems to follow a sort of
risqué path, like various versions
of the “true life” story about
some guy calling a locksmith to
remove a padlock, or some kind
of metal ring from his body, that
he’d secured there in an attempt
to enhance his “manhood” and
later couldn’t get it off.
Another occurrence that
seemed too common to be true
is the damsel in distress, usually late at night, when she’d
dashed out of her house or
apartment scantily dressed or
void of garments, in an attempt
to catch her escaping puppy or
pick up her daily newspaper off
the front step. In these cases, the
door slammed shut, locking her
outside. Fortunately, she always
seemed to have her cell-phone in
hand and bushes to hide in until
a locksmith could come and let
her back into her dwelling.
Once in a great while, a
locksmith will tell me about a
late-night customer who offered
to trade “services” with him,
instead of paying cash. Of course,
he declined the offer.
I knew one locksmith from
near Lubbock, Texas, who got a
call one day to come to a small
town in that part of the state and
re-key all of the locks in a hotel
there. Not being familiar with the
building, but seeing the possibility of mega-bucks for the job, he
jumped into his service van and
headed that way.
He thought it a bit strange
that the entire building was
painted hot pink, and that all of
the people staying there were
women, but he kept his nose to
the grindstone and got the job
done. Upon completion, he pre-
sented his bill, and the person in
charge offered to give him a per-
manent “membership” to the es-
tablishment, in lieu of payment.
It was then that the locksmith
learned he’d been working in a
“house of ill repute.”
I recently received an e-mail
from a good friend and locksmith
who lives and works in extreme
south Texas. This is the tale
he told, from his own personal
experience.
On the expressway out of town
is a motel that rents rooms by
the hour. It’s a nice looking place
from the outside, apparently
clean and neat, and all lit up with
red lights at night. Pretty much
everyone in the area knows the
sort of place it is.
One particular Friday evening, the locksmith got a call
from a guy at around 5: 30,
needing a locksmith. An actor,
who was working in the area,
had agreed to come to this motel to meet a gal from his place
of work. They had arrived in
separate vehicles. When they
decided it was time to head
for their respective homes,
the guy nearly panicked. He’d
left his keys inside his vehicle
and locked the doors. When
he reached the locksmith by
phone, there was a hint of
panic in his voice. He needed
help, and fast. He was already
late getting home.
The locksmith had no inter-
est in going out there. He’d been
called there on several occasions
over the years, and had found
it to be a “seedy” place with the
same type of patrons. This time,
he priced the job pretty high,
hoping to discourage the actor
from wanting him to come, but
the guy said, “If you can come
right away, come on out.”
When the locksmith arrived,
the guy was on his phone, appar-
ently talking to his wife.
“Yes, honey,” he was saying,
“I’m at the store picking up some
beer and the locksmith is here
trying to unlock the car.”
There were problems getting
his door open, and several such
phone calls were made during
the time it took to complete the
