It was a Monday morning when the locksmith came to my house. I was hoping that I would like him because he does have the ability to access my house. I could sense the kindness in his heart from the minute I opened the door. He was a big burly man with a wide grin and wrinkles by the corners of his blue eyes. I looked at his face and knew he had lived a life that had been hard in some ways but very satisfying.
The first thing he did was bend down on his knees to pet my dog Rosie. The two of them nuzzled and fussed like they were old friends. In an instant a bond had formed and I loved this locksmith for it.
“You have dogs, don’t you?” I asked him. I tend to like people that like dogs, and wonder with some concern about those who don’t.
“I’ve got three rescues,” he said, and went on to tell me about each of them. I was glad he liked to talk. I figured, given the work he does, he would have a lot of interesting stories. I’m sure people lock themselves into and out of some real predicaments. I thought he might tell me about a few.
And sure enough, when we passed the hall bathroom, he had a story for me. But it wasn’t about one of his customers. Instead he said, “I put an alarm on my medicine cabinet because of my snoopy sister-in-law.”
“You what?” I said. “Your sister-in-law takes things from your medicine cabinet?”
“No, she doesn’t take things, she just snoops. Anyway, on Thanksgiving last year I rigged the medicine cabinet. During dinner she excused herself and I told the family that the medicine cabinet alarm was going to go off in 10,9, 8… Sure enough it went off. It was painfully loud and she came back to the table beet red. Boy, was she embarrassed.”
“Well,” I said, “I guess she won’t do that again.”
“Nope, that took care of it.”
I admired his principles. This was a man who not only rescued dogs, but if pushed would use his skills to put a person who was out of line in their place. Never meddle with a locksmith, I thought.
He went down the hallway to fix the lock on my door. Perfectly.