Who has my keys

How the week flew by like a bumblebee. My classes were particularly demanding, with a problem set and case write-up for Corporate Finance, a homework for Data-Driven Marketing and a midterm exam for Competitive Strategy. Then again, how spoiled we second-years are to think this set of assignments constitutes a busy week, when it's a shadow of what we were enduring last year.

The week got cool, clear and crisp, permitting me to take the photo above, wich shows my view on my short walk home from school every day. Off in the distance is East Rock, for which my neighborhood is named. In the context of the flat places I have lived before, I'd call East Rock a mountain; my roommate, who is from Colorado, calls it a hill.

Last night, several members of Q+ and I went to New York City for a recruiting cocktail hour with prospective students and Yale alumni. It was a fun night until I returned and realized that somewhere along the way I had lost all my keys. In a completely bizarre miracle, I called my roommate, even though it was quite late, to see if she could let me in if I were to take a cab home (because, of course, I couldn't unlock or drive my car). And it turned out she was coincidentally at the train station at that very moment, so I just hopped in her car and came home. And to my further surprise, when I got home I found a spare car key in the first place I looked, even though I wasn't even sure I owned one. In the sober light of morning I realize how fortunate I really was last night, and that maybe I wasn't meant to drive. Perhaps in losing my keys, I avoided being hit by a truck! Who knows. The only key I didn't have a spare for was my mailbox key, but it was promptly replaced for just $10. We have excellent maintenance in this building; they always respond immediately and do things very well.

As I was without keys last night I began to wonder: Why do we still use keys? Seems awfully primitive. Take a housekey, for instance. We carry around this jagged metal stick all day every day in our pocket or purse, but we only use it for a total of about 4 seconds a day -- 2 when we lock the door on the way out, and 2 when we unlock it on the way in. We actually have to shove this metal thing into a mysterious slot and turn it? What is this, the 1200s? And on a higher level, why do we even bother? The probability of a would-be thief actually getting into my building and walking to my apartment and turning the knob to see if it's open, then giving up after realizing his boneheaded plot was foiled, is probably less than a millionth of a percent! Nevertheless, these silly-looking things have been in my pocket, pressed uncomfortably against my thigh, constantly for like 20 years.

People are weirdos.