The Locker

The Locker by Luke Lester

[Victoria, Canada]

Posted November 2025

 

When I was a young whipper-snapper on a crisp prairie afternoon, I locked the keys in the car. Grandpa was pissed; however, he happened to have a spare made for this eventuality, his hoarding vindicated, much to Granny’s chagrin.

 

Running theme.

 

Few years ago, I locked my keys inside and attempted to bolt-cutter the lock myself. It was so sturdy that the attempt actually pulled the lockers out of the wall, rusty screws screeching as they were ripped from the wall. My supervisor chewed me out, detailing all the mistakes in my decision-making process step by excruciating step.

 

I should have learned from my mistakes.

 

Not me.

 

I lock my keys in my locker again.

 

Goddamnit all to hell! I can’t have, I double check my pockets, I check near the toilet, maybe they fell out of my pocket there…

 

Eat lunch, ignoring the elephant sitting in my mind’s room. The elephant grows and expands and widens and lengthens and heightens as my mind’s room somehow shrinks like my appetite. So, I seek our facilities manager, Charlie. Of course, he is at lunch as well. I wander.

 

I come back, Charlie is early of course, multitasking away as if eight limbed, as per usual. I interrupt with my problem. He grabs the toolbox, and we exit to the lockers. My bright bronze lock is thicker than expected: even I can’t steal my own stuff!

 

Back to work for me.

 

Charlie, the stand-up problem-solver that he is, embarks on a magical quest to find the tools to break the lock. Different departments, outside, inside, hardware stores, even Bilko, the twitchy coffee infused handyman, nothing can penetrate the locker’s defences.

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Meanwhile, I assist fire-breathing extremely hygienic customers with their very important difficulties for a couple of hours.

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Break time!

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Upstairs to the physical heart of my trauma, aka the locker room, Charlie is grinding away with shimmering silver bolt-cutters. I wait, red-faced and awkward as ever.

 

CLANK! The Ring is thrown into the fires of Mordor! My locker is free. But there is a sequel…

 

I exit to get a snack for Charlie to thank the hero for his noble sacrifice, but another vexing struggle…

 

I open the gnarled maw that holds my stuff. But where are my keys?! This isn’t happening! My mother’s about to drive our car off a cliff with me inside and I’m about to wake up again, right?!!

 

I search. Lockers. Bathroom. Downstairs. Check the lost and found, again. Back to my locker - it has to be in there. Pull everything out. Belongings on the chair. Dig through dusty black jacket. Empty smooth fabric backpack. Where the hell are they? Search every crevice (who needs this many pouches?) Pick up and shake: a metallic jingling sound, is it just the zippers?

 

There they are the silver reflection of the objects of my desire blinding me with relief! It would’ve been easier if I had a spare. Grandpa wasn’t such a hoarder after all.

Published in Flash Fiction North November 5th, 2025

https://www.flashfictionnorth.com/recentfiction