Dream­ing of the miss­ing keys

Sun.Star Cebu - - PRIME SPORTS - AL S. MEN­DOZA also147@yahoo.com

I thought of drop­ping the keys in the box found at the lobby left of the lift when, in a flash, I made a chase of our Ri­mowa bag scoot­ing so swiftly out­side on the down­hill pave­ment.

It’s nice to be back. The Syd­ney swing sort of reen­er­gized me. A bit tir­ing, of course, but I can’t com­plain.

So that even as the trip had one stain, I won’t al­low the glitch to spoil the party.

I lost the two keys of our room in Syd­ney that I thought I had dropped at the box in obe­di­ence to ho­tel rules when check­ing out.

Turns out I didn’t.

Our Syd­ney-based friend, who had booked us at the Wal­dorf Apart­ments and had paid our bills in ad­vance, called us up about the miss­ing keys just min­utes upon our ar­rival.

“Dear Al could not have pos­si­bly dropped the keys at the box as per records of the CCTV,” said Offie O’Sul­li­van, my wife’s high school mate mar­ried to Eu­gene, the Ir­ish gen­tle­man.

“In that case, please tell Offie I will pay for the miss­ing keys,” I told my wife. “CCTVs never lie.”

Events had hap­pened so fu­ri­ously fast that dawn of our de­par­ture for home sweet home in Que­zon City.

I thought of drop­ping the keys in the box found at the lobby left of the lift when, in a flash, I made a chase of our Ri­mowa bag scoot­ing so swiftly out­side on the down­hill pave­ment.

But I wasn’t that fast. Not any­more.

Or my knees weren’t up to the chal­lenge?

God, it was rain­ing. In­stinc­tively, I had to slow down mid­way into the dash as the sur­face was slip­pery.

Some years back, I broke my right el­bow fol­low­ing a slip on my way to the locker room of a golf course. For al­most a year, I couldn’t play golf; all that time, I used only my left hand in tap­ping the keys of my lap­top ev­ery time I wrote a col­umn, or a news story.

So in short, I missed Ri­mowa. Com­pletely.

For­tu­nately, it was about 2:30 in the morn­ing. Not a sin­gle ve­hi­cle travers­ing Liver­pool St. to flat­ten the run­away red Ri­mowa, which trav­eled about maybe a hun­dred or so feet away.

“Good thing it didn’t burst open,” said the mis­sus, giv­ing me dag­ger looks. “All the cho­co­lates for pasalubong would have gone for naught.”

And then this knock­out of a query from the mis­sus when we fi­nally got set­tled down at our PAL jet seats: “Honey, did you drop our room keys at the box?” “Yes, honey,” I said. Then I fell asleep.

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