Column: The Key to the Meaning of Life

Unfortunately, no philosopher has ever come up with an actual answer to this Meaning of Life question. This is understandable. If one philosopher came up with an answer, all the others would become pissed off because they'd be out of a job, and they'd probably beat the hell out of him. At the risk, however, of waking up some morning to find a bunch of furiously angry fat, pasty people waiting for me on my porch, I must announce that I have found the real Meaning of Life. It's keys. That's right, keys. I'm convinced, after hours of painstaking research and several glasses of beer, that our keys are the focal point of our lives. Apartment keys, car keys, safe keys, skate keys, major keys, minor keys, key lime pie, keyed up, Key Club, Francis Scott Key, Kiki Dee, the Keating Five, the Jackson Five, etc. You can't get away from them. You carry them around all the time, you lose them, you twirl them around on your finger when you talk to people, so that by the time the conversation is over they want to grab your keys and insert them forcefully into your body through orifices not suited for the purpose. Keys have a long and illustrious history. Back in prehistoric times, before the Key Age, early man had no means of protecting his stuff other than standing in front of it in a threatening manner and scowling. Actually, this was a piece of cake because early man had a brow the size of a coral reef, and as a result had a lot more trouble not scowling than scowling. But as evolution progressed, man became more intelligent and developed the key. These early key-makers more or less just stood around and scratched their sloping foreheads for several hundred thousand years until somebody invented the lock in the fourth century B.C., paving the way for such great inventions as the prison and the bus station locker. A good anecdote about our fixation on keys involves a woman who lives on the second floor of my apartment building. A few days ago, she appeared, shoeless and confused, on our doorstep, bemoaning the fact that she was locked out of her apartment and had forgotten her keys. "Andy!" she yelled at me. "What do I do?" It's worth pointing out here that my name isn't Andy. She had confused me with my roommate. This is an honest mistake, because aside from our height, weight, eyesight, complexion, mode of dress, hairstyle, build and facial features, we look exactly alike. Anyway, she tried calling our landlord. He wasn't in the office, however, no doubt hiding in the Place Where Landlords Go When You're Having An Emergency. So, as a generous, selfless, humanitarian gesture, and to get her the hell out of our living room, Andy (not to be confused with Me) ran to the kitchen, grabbed a butter knife, and with it, picked her lock in about three seconds. Grateful, she vigorously embraced him. This story illustrates two vital key-related facts: FACT 1: We don't need keys if we want to steal all of our neighbor's stuff. FACT 2: Unless we want to get embraced, we shouldn't be so helpful. So it seems clear that keys can be pretty damn important. Another excellent example of this can be found in my Dad's experiences with keys. He used to have this problem where he would park the car at malls or banks or whatever, then lock his set of keys inside. This was a problem, because it prevented him from getting into our house. It even prevented him from driving to our neighborhood. In fact, all he could really do after locking the keys in the car was stand around in parking lots and swear. Now, however, he is calmer and more organized. His keys are now on a big shiny key ring so that they are easily seen. Before he gets out of any car he chants quietly to himself, "Keys. Keys. Keys," much to the amusement of passers-by. This way, when he locks the keys in the car, he can grin and, in a calm and friendly manner, point out the big shiny key ring to the police. And think -- there is now an entire industry devoted to the copying of keys. With the dawn of modern key technology, it is not unusual to hear conversations like this one at locksmiths' all over the world: CUSTOMER: Hello. I'd like this key copied. LOCKSMITH: I'm sorry. This key has "University of Pennsylvania Dormitories: Do Not Copy" etched into it. CUSTOMER: But I have this girlfriend I want to give it to. LOCKSMITH: Sorry. I can't copy it. It's against the law. CUSTOMER: But I have this twenty-dollar bill. LOCKSMITH: Well, if it's just for your girlfriend . . . So there you go. I'd love to tell you more about keys, but my roommate and I are busy getting new furniture for our apartment. Let's hope it fits through our neighbor's door. John Lennon is a senior English major from Phillipsburg, New Jersey. Stepping On The Big Man's Toes appears alternate Mondays.

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