Smith’s Key

A few days ago, I was waiting at Cannington station for my train home. More out of boredom than hunger, I took to browsing snacks at the Smith’s vending machine and noticed a key sitting in the machine padlock. I dismissed the notion of opening the machine but didn’t want to leave the key. My train was a minute away. 

A fragment of sympathy for the remiss operator found me and I called a number on the machine to report the incident. A woman answered. She sounded surprised and took my details. 

My train arrived. 

‘I have to go’, I said. ‘My train’s here … did you want me to take the key?’ 

There was a pause. ‘Yes, take the key’.

‘I’m taking the key’, I assured her. ‘And I’m boarding the train’.

‘Thank you Mr. Holland. We’ll be in touch.’

I found a seat and watched the river as the train headed north. The chop was making it hard for a sole pelican. Less than a minute into the journey my phone rang. I didn’t recognise the number.

‘Hello?’ I answered. 

‘Mr. Holland. You have the key.’ It was more of a statement than a question. It was a man’s voice, but it was thin almost strangulated. 

‘Yes’, I affirmed. ‘I have it’.

‘Where are you going?’ 

‘I’m going home.’ I answered.

‘What’s your address? I’ll come to yours and pick it up.’

‘I’m not really comfortable giving you my address. I’ll post it to you if you message me an address.’

‘I’ll message you the address then.’ He said it quickly as if he wanted to be sure he’d got the final word.

‘Okay, goodbye.’ I hung up the phone.

The train passed into the subway and I caught the reflection of the passengers as the dark sprang outside. It hadn’t occurred to me how full the train was. I wondered whether any of them had seen the key and sensibly left it. I took the key out of my pocket and looked at it. It was a plain key with a number 2 engraved in it.

My phone beeped. I received a message with a Canningvale address. I wondered what the key meant to Smith’s Company and whether they would simply replace the lock. Maybe the key meant a lot to them. Maybe it opened all the machines? Why the fuck had there been no mention of reward!?

I messaged a reply to the guy with the thin voice: ‘I’ll get back to you when I decide what to do with the key. Please await instructions.’

I received a message reply: ‘Was it a Coke machine or Pepsi?’

‘It was a chips and chocolate machine’, I replied. And followed with: ‘I’d prefer to communicate via email.’

I felt better. Like I’d turned the tide in my favour. That night I emailed Smith’s Snacks and included the following claim: ‘I am a good Samaritan but I am also a human being’.

They replied the following day:

Thankyou for your honesty and thoughtfulness in regards to your actions regarding the key found in the lock at Canning Bridge Station.

You already supplied your address to the operator so I am happy to drop a carton of chips to you and collect the key from the letter box if you do not want to meet.

About ten minutes ago a man came and delivered a box. I stayed in my room feeling a bit cheap. 

Still. Win win.