Weird.

Being a trusting person is an admirable quality, but one must learn when trust doesn’t work. If you get that bike back,  make sure you lock it up next time. Better yet – keep it in the apartment and out of sight.

“No,” I said, but explained that my bike had been stolen.

“What does it look like?” she asked.  She pulled up a snapshot on her cell phone, shielding it from me.  I described it — various features — and added that it said “Charger” on the side.

“Oh, yes, this one has Charger on it.  It’s in a closet.”

“Then key in to the apartment and let’s get my bike!” I said.

“No,” she replied.

I didn’t have my wits with me.  My landlady has, shall we say, a strong personality, but were I more conscious, I would not have dropped the point.  I would have taken it as far as calling 911 to get police to compel her to open the door.  But I was very sleepy.

I don’t know what she did about it.  She might have changed the locks.  But likely, if they got in once, they can get in again, and maybe they’ll take my bike with them next time.

This one is my fault.  Tonight the preceding occurred to me, but by that time it was after hours, and the landlady forwards her phone to her home number, and I didn’t want to wake her (this is not the kind of lady you want to wake.)  But I’ll call her first thing in the morning.  And if the bike’s not there, I will call the cops, and try to get the complex’s insurance to pay for a replacement.

Some idiot forgot to lock his bike, lock his bike, lock his bike
Some idiot forgot to lock his bike and I know who he is.
He’s brilliant and thoughtful and sensitive, too
Frustrating and exasperating and forgetful, too
But that idiot forgot to lock his bike and I don’t know what to do.