Author: Prince Of Petworth

Eric Nuzum  has an ethical dilemma and needs your help in figuring out what to do.
“Good morning,” I called out to my neighbor Angela, who, despite living a few doors down from me for almost a year, still looks at me every time she sees me with a grimace that implies that she isn’t entirely unconvinced that I plan to kill, rape, rob, burn, mutilate, or bother her. “You didn’t…by chance…lose anything in the street…did you?”

“Like what?” she flatly replied, almost sounding interested.

“Like, I don’t know, a key or something?”

“You found a key…but you don’t know it’s a key?” she asked.

“I know it’s a key.”

“Then why’d you say you didn’t know? If you found a key, just say ‘I found a key.'”

“I found a key,” I said.

“Well, it ain’t mine.”

“Thank you, Angela.”

This was the second conversation I’d had about the keys I’d found right where the curb meets the street in front of my house. You know, that crevasse-like collecting point for potato chip bags, bottles, chicken bones, leaves, and syringes. However, one recent morning I looked down and saw something shiny: a set of keys. They were two identical keys, fairly new (but didn’t appear brand new) held together on a cheap metal ring. They looked like standard size keys–like for a door lock. Outside of a five-digit code on the side of the keys, there was no distinguishing marks, tags, or brand names. 

My first key-related conversation hadn’t gone much better.

“Hey there,” I called out to my neighbor, an old retired military guy (as evidenced by the multiple bumper stickers on his fleet of vehicles announcing this fact) who occasionally parks his pick-up in front of my house (instead of across the street in front of his house).  [Ed. Note: In Petworth parking is copious and there is an unwritten rule that the resident of the home parks in front of it.]

“I found something of value in the street yesterday and I’m not sure who it belongs to,” I said.

“Well, if it’s money–it’s mine.”

“It isn’t money,” I replied.

“Well, what is it?” he asked.

This was my real problem: how do you ask people on your street if they’ve lost something when you don’t want to reveal much about what it is? I thought about giving him hints like “They’re shiny,” or “They’re made of metal.” But eventually decided on the direct approach.

“Keys.”

“Keys?” he asked rhetorically. “What are they to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, how are you supposed to find out who they belong to if you don’t know what they open?”  Story continues after the jump. (more…)