Tribute to John Emerson

This is a tribute a year overdue, but nevertheless still worth tributing. I've mentioned it several times before, so here is the official full story:

Married: May 23, 2009. We were generously offered Matt's aunt's vacation condo up in Portland, Maine. On the day before our wedding, Aunt Carol's husband, Hank, gave us the keys to said condo, with a side comment of how he wished this was his only set but that he kept having to make more copies because his kids always lost his condo keys and how annoying it was. We fervently promised not to be like his kids, and to take good care of his keys. Oh the foreshadowing...

Day 2 of honeymoon: we wake up in said glorious condo, meander outside to find us some breakfast, and on the way there Matt says "hang on, lemme check to make sure I locked the car." As he is in the process of turning his body around, we hear a *chink-clank*. He doesn't think much of it until he gets to the car, reaches in his pocket, and realizes the precious condo keys are missing. Much huffing and puffing and stomping and pacing and grunting and swearing ensued (on Matt's part... I just stood there, amused) before we finally concluded that the only possible demise of the keys was the sewer grate located directly where the *chink-clank* happened. What a way to start a honeymoon. :) I know, because when I wandered into the closest open shop to tell them what happened, that's exactly what they said to me. I savor the fact that the very first time I've ever used the phrase "my husband" was to say "my husband flung our condo keys into the sewer down the street."

I had gone into said paint shop to ask for a phone book to search for any local municipal phone number of anything. I came out empty handed, but when I returned to the scene of the crime, Matt had used Google text (bless you, Google text) to find the phone number of Portland's City Hall and was frantically describing our situation:

After only a miraculous few minutes and several friendly transfers, he was promised that someone would come by in 'fifteen minutes' to check out the situation. Being D.C. residents, we highly doubted anything would come of it and spent the next five minutes discussing how to get another set of keys. It wasn't looking good... Matt's aunt's phone number had been left in the condo. Locked. With keys that were currently in the sewer.

Shockingly, within those five minutes of discussion and DURING our comment of "well I highly doubt anyone will actually come," a truck pulled up and a friendly man hopped out: "Looks like we've got a problem here! Noooooo worries..." within seconds he had yanked off the grate top with a crowbar. He reassured us that this type of thing happened all the time... really? But apparently, really, because out of nowhere he produced a length of rope with a magnet attached and dropped it in. Really? You're going to just boink the rope up and down until you find the keys? Really? Um... okay...

Happily and friendly-ily fishing, while Matt looks on sheepishly...

More dutiful fishing, while Matt now attempts to look useful...

And... VOILA!!! KEYS!!!!!

This single photo makes this entire blog post worthwhile. I cannot express how wonderful a moment it was for us. 1) Someone from the city of Portland ACTUALLY showed up. I mean, can you imagine if this had happened in D.C.? Uh yeah, have fun finding a locksmith. 2) He ACTUALLY found the keys!! What are the chances of THAT happening? He also assured us (though I don't know if I ever quite believed him) that it wasn't an actual 'sewer', but a 'rainwater drain' so the keys weren't quite as nasty as they could have been. But whatever. Matt rinsed them off thoroughly and didn't tell Hank until, y'know, a week later. But yeah... we were really glad to have those keys back.

I told Matt to give me his best "I'm an idiot" face here.

We sent a letter to city hall a few weeks after our return from our Maine trip, thanking Mr. John Emerson profusely, over and over again, for his lifesaving community service.

The best part of the whole situation was I noticed, after we were all done, that the semi-truck that had been parked across the curb the entire time, refueling the gas station or whatever, contained a driver that possessed an expression of extreme amusement when we walked by to resume our morning quest for breakfast. Ah well. Glad we could provide some entertainment for the residents of Portland.

Thank you John Emerson, fervently and from the bottom of both of our hearts. Thank you.