Preparation is Key: The Checker's Nightmare

Everyone has a functional quirk. Some people are excessively neat or untidy, some are collectors or hoarders, some are list-makers, and the qualities seem to get stranger and stranger. I am a compulsive checker. Certainly not to the point where the impulse is debilitating, but I check to ensure I’ve got my keys, wallet, cell phone, and other items of importance in their designated places and pockets.

The habitual checking is a fairly handy trait and I assume it is something embedded in my psyche from early on. As a kid I seldom lost items because each item had a “home” and before leaving anywhere I always performed the typical three second check for these accessories (Keys, check. Wallet, check. Phone, check. Etc.). This organizational system gets more challenging in the winter season because you have mittens, scarves, and hats to keep track of; not to mention, winter jackets usually have more pockets granting you more potential places to carry random things. Overall, your skills as a checker are significantly tested in the winter.

So what happens when a checker encounters a dilemma where they are at a loss for items? Well from experience, I’ll tell ya - it’s not pretty. I’ll forewarn you that the following situation involved a cheesecake, a bicycle, and a rodent; it also ended with the question, “Jen, why aren’t wearing any shoes?”

It began as I set out for the shops on a sunny, but chilly, mid-fall Saturday. I ran a few errands and was feeling pretty adventurous, so I purchased a random cheesecake. After a quick pocket check, I returned home with everything in order.

I went into the kitchen, removed my shoes and jacket, and started putting things away. While unpacking, I noticed that the garbage needed to be taken out so I brought it down to the garage.

Now, quirks may be universal, but there is another strange phenomenon of human behaviour which occurs when one returns to a door (a garage door, let’s say) only to find it has automatically locked upon closing. This individual inevitably goes mad trying to open the door despite what is understood as a losing battle. Naturally, I adopted this behaviour and was banging on the door of my empty house as though by some miracle it would swing open.

After about six minutes of yelling at inanimate objects and cursing the universe, I began sizing up my situation. I reached for my pockets...nothing. No keys, no cell phone, no money; and because I had not expected to end up locked in a garage, no shoes. Welcome to the checker’s nightmare.

The garage full of old furniture, bicycles, and huge spiders was cold, so I opened the garage door and ran up the hill to the front steps to try my luck at what I already assumed would be a locked front door. Yeah, no luck there either.

It also didn’t help that I had no sense of time, because the battery in my watch had stopped - my procrastination over getting a new battery made time stand still at 11:35 since the beginning of the summer. For the record, the oven clock read 1:47pm when I was in the kitchen unpacking mere moments ago.

In any case, if I didn’t get creative soon, I was going to end up sitting on the front steps of the house for hours waiting for someone to come home.

As my hunger increased, my crazy did too and I considered the following plan: step 1: use the bike in the garage to go to the library, step 2: get a donut, step 3: use internet to alert roommate of situation and have her come home and save me.

This plan was initially appealing until I returned to the garage and realized two things. One – riding a bike with spiders all over it with no shoes was bound to be a horrible experience, and two – There was a long, brown creature chewing its way through the garbage I had set down earlier!

After sufficient screaming and what looked like a twitchy dance-seizure, I realized the bike-to-library plan was out and I was unable to escape the beady-eyed rodent now darting around the garage. I stared at him for a while, and then started issuing threats. I named him Ricardo.

I’m not sure how long I was out there, but the sun was setting and I was shivering on the front steps again. Some guy on a bike went by and I called out to him asking for the time. He looked at me, laughed, and pedalled on (thanks, guy).

I imagine at this point I looked like a mumbling cave person staring through the kitchen window at my now melty cheesecake. This was when my mind kept echoing what my roommate said that morning:

“I’m not going to be home until about 5, and I can’t find my keys...You’ll be home right?”