We’re on scene with a drunk guy who was assaulted.
“Hey, looooock my bike.”
It has a chain and a padlock.
“OK, where are the keys?”
He starts fumbling with his keys after he pulls them out of his pocket.
“Leeeet me shoooow you which one.”
“Gimme the keys. I can figure it out.”
I snatch them out of his hand. As soon as I do this, I know I’m about to fuck something up, because I’m an idiot. Anyone can confirm that.
I undo the padlock and the chain, and walk about 20 feet to a fence where the bike can be secured properly.
“Hey, where’s the padlock? I just had it.”
It looks like I dropped it somehow into the dry brush and gravel, which, of course, is roughly the same color as the padlock.
Now a half dozen responders are hunched over, pacing back and forth, looking for the padlock. For a good several minutes.
“You idiot. It’s here.”
There it was, hanging on a spoke. Probably slipped from my hand and landed perfectly.
That’s why I’m always careful about feeling smug – I always embarrass myself soon afterward.
It’s good customer service though. Chief Brunacini would be proud.