The bad news is that my car is easy to break into.  The good news is that my car is easy to break into.  How do I know?  Well, I watched a maintenance worker at one of our state prisons do it—with my blessing and undying gratitude.  It only took him a few minutes and then I could get on my way again.

Getting over feeling really, really stupid took me a bit longer.  I can remember the last time I locked myself out of my house but that was a team effort.  I thought Kat had her key.  Kat thought I had my key.  It worked out because I had planned for the contingency of someone doing it.  We walked down the street to a friend's house and got the extra key.

But yesterday I was a distance away from home and office.  It would have taken FogieKnight at least 45 minutes to come and rescue me.  The second I realized the problem, I felt awful.  I came out of the prison after visiting with my client, opened up the locker, and put on my coat.  My hand went into my pocket.  No keys.  None at all.  Checked my other pockets.  Nope, no keys.  And then I remembered…

If I were an irresponsible person, I would blame that particular prison.  The prison I was visiting is the only one I know of in the whole state (and, as a appellate public defender I know of most of them) that requires two quarters for their lockers.  Most of the others either use a token or require one quarter.

How can one measly little extra quarter cause such a problem?  Well, I take as little as possible into the prisons.  I usually lock most of my stuff in the car.  I took out my ID, my pen, my file, and a quarter.  So far, so good.  I took the keys out of the lock.  I was about to put them in my pocket when I remember.  The darn lockers needed two quarters.  At that point, I made my fatal error.  I disrupted my routine.  With my keys in my hand, I went back into my purse for the other quarter---and absentmindedly put my keys away.  I gathered up my stuff, pressed the power lock, and closed the door.

But prison staff rescued me.  When I discovered the problem, I asked the gatehouse sergeant if I could use the phone to call FogieKnight.  "I have a better idea," he said.  "I might be able to help you and, if I can't, we'll call Mike."  He arranged coverage for the desk and came out with me.  He couldn't get it but, in response to his call, Mike came and Mike could.

Funny, isn't it, how a skill that often gets my clients into the prison, got me out of the prison's parking lot.