Locked in and out

Had I been considering a career in burglary or safecracking, I would have to think again.
It all started a few weeks ago when I went to leave the house. We have dead bolts on our doors, and you need a key to open them. We had them installed when we moved into the house some eight years ago. While keeping bad guys out is one perk, the main reason we got them was to keep little ones in. I have heard the story of, when I was 3, having pushed a chair up to our front door, unlocking the chain and moseying out into traffic. Next time you drive past Blockbuster, think of me circa 1975, quite a few unpleasant motorists backed up on Silver Bluff Road and my mother in a dead sprint toward me, possibly saying something that started with “You little ...”
So anywho, back to the keys. I went to our usual spot where they live. Nothing there. No surprise. They often migrate away, to coat pockets, counter tops, inside of a kangaroo puppet’s pouch. Usual stuff.
Eventually, I was able to find a key to open the locks, which is good because you don’t really want to have to take your child into school late and sign them in with the reason “locked self inside house.” But one set of keys did not emerge during the quest. And, unfortunately, this was the set that had a key to the lock on the pool gate. I searched and searched, to no avail. So, I did what any sane person would do, and, in a bit of a huff, dragged a drill out at 9:30 at night and tried to break into my own pool gate.
I know what you’re thinking – Mike, why not just call a locksmith? Or find some bolt cutters? Or ... simply not do that? And the answer is simple: because my wife was not home.
The reason I opted for the drill is because I had successfully employed that method a few years back. I remember it being quick and easy. I think my memory is skewed. Donning some work gloves (safety first!) I began to drill out the lock. I recalled that the last time, I simply put the drill bit where the key would go, gunned the drill and click – open sesame. Apparently, however, this lock was made with some otherworldy metal that’s impervious to regular drills.
I assumed that the drill bit I had was simply the wrong size, so I switched it out with a smaller one, thinking maybe I just needed to needle my way in there. Sure enough, putting some muscle into it, I was able to start grinding out the center of the lock. In no time, I figured, this sucker would be open. After about 10 minutes, I saw the drill bit crawl out of the top of the lock. I backed the bit out of the lock and gave it a tug. Still locked. Grrr.
Clearly, another bit was necessary. I went into my tool chest and found a masonry bit. If it’s good enough for concrete, it good enough for a lock. (Tremendous logic, huh?) After about five minutes, I had proceeded to make the hole in the lock slightly bigger, the masonry bit slightly bent and the lock still completely locked.
Because it was getting late (and well past most communities’ outdoor drilling-into-metal ordinances), I opted to hang it up for the night. The next day, I went around the neighborhood asking for bolt cutters. Surprisingly, no one had any. I tried several other approaches, one in which involved ruining a perfectly good pair of hedge trimmers. I also tried using a hacksaw. I am pretty sure the lock actually chuckled at that attempt. I tried to pry it off, when it occurred to me that would more than likely pry off the gate hinge, not the lock.
As a last-ditch effort, I decided to get the largest drill bit I could find. At the very least, I would carve out more of the lock, potentially removing some of its clearly dark soul.
I grabbed the lock, put the drill bit to the bottom and squeezed the drill’s trigger. Click. Lock open. Uncle. Mercy. Call it what you will. I call it victory. And I think we can all take away a very important lesson from this: If I ask to borrow your hedge trimmers, say no.