The Key To Embarrassment

It seems I gave them too much credit.
When my friends Adam and Rachael recently failed a random breath test, Rachael lost her license for three months. I thought they’d both learned some serious life lessons doing an hours porridge in the Mirrabooka slammer.
But they learned nothing. I relate this update in the hope that public humiliation might shame them into responsibility.
They were having a big night out: The kind you budget for three pay-weeks in advance.
Drunk and exhausted, at 4am they started for home. They live side-by-side so they share a ride.
Neither Rachael nor Adam could remember where they had parked the car. So they wandered around Northbridge until they spotted a clapped-out and rusting mint green Sigma.
Rachael pulled the keys from her pocket, choose a nice golden one, she stumbled forward, and fumbled to get it in the lock. It slid in, albeit reluctantly.
“Adam, it won’t turn”.
She looked up. Adam was gone. She twisted the key hard. Snap.
“Oh God.” Bending wearily at the knees, she eyeballed the broken key in the lock.
“This isn’t my car.” I can imagine the cogs working in her head as she said: “I don’t have a license, I can’t drive.”
“Adam?” Her calls going unanswered, she called a cab instead.
“Stop when you’ve got as far as…” she counted her coins, “…$7.80 will get me.”
A few kilometres from home, Rache alighted from the taxi (leaving her shoes in it) and walked home barefoot through puddles.
Imagine the relief in her eyes as she walked across her lawn to her front door.
“Oh God… I’ve snapped my house key off in someone’s car.”
The only spare in existence was with Adam and goodness knew what had happened to him. With her car safely impounded in the driveway and her car key perfectly in tact, Rache curled up for some slumber in the Sigma.
Adam gave her the spare key when he got home.
“I’m glad I didn’t have to call a locksmith – they cost like $100.”
They went off to their respective beds and arose a day-and-a-half later. At which point, Rachael, already suffering from the flu, left the house wearing only boxers and a singlet. She lit a cigarette, letting the door close behind her. Leaving the only house key in existence safely inside.
“Adam, can I use your phone? I need to call a locksmith.”