I actually have a key box in my apartment. That's right - a box designed specifically to help prevent my dumb ass from leaving my keys in the pile of laundry on the floor/lost in the bedcovers/in the freezer where I'm sure to never find them. Here she is:
You can't fuck with the key box, the Iron Giant and Zim have it on lockdown. Here are her insides:
From left to right, Maui keychain brought back by former boss to appease bad vibes created by him taking a weeklong vacation in the tropics as we slaved away in 14 hours shifts to cover his ass, key to a lock left in Fort Granville, NC, 5 years ago, Compass given to me by my father, about 8 skillion keys to my bike lock, mace, bestowed to me by Steve as I left LA for SF (because SF is much more dangerous than LA), caribiner, but no the real kind, key to the mailbox at my old apartment (above Joy, the Melancholy Frog), a key found at the corner of Stanyan and Franklin (anyone locked out, holler), and finally, a lock I've forgotten the combination to, stuck inside the box full of keys that open nothing.
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