Chocolate and keys

Chocolate has never been my friend. Maybe a passing aquaintance, but there never existed a bond between us strong enough that I would mourn its absence from my life for prolonged periods of time. In fact, even as I sit at my desk and eat this chocolate covered donut, it is to be noted that I am tolerating the chocolate coating only in order to get to the swiss pudding part which, I have been told, lies at the center.

And chocolate hasn't been good to me either. I remember once during a trip to India, I bought some chocolate in the duty-free store at Amsterdam. 'Cause I think there's a rule somewhere in my Indian passport that states that NRIs wont be admitted into India unless they purchase those triangular Toublerone chocolates for every Indian they are linked to either by blood or by marriage. So I bought the damn things, paid for them and was leaving the store when the electronic beeping gadget at the entrance went mad. I was stopped, asked if I had paid for whatever it is that I had purchased. Even after I showed them the receipt, I was forced to open up my rucksack, lay out its contents on the floor for perusal and only allowed to go after it was clear that I had committed no felony. A public rectal exam would have been less humiliating. Ever since then, I haven't bought any consumer products that have been crafted out of chocolate.

That is, till a couple of weekends ago when I went to the grocery to buy some stuff. I was starving and needed to get some carbs into my system. So I bought a snickers chocolate bar, ate half of it and stuffed the other half into my pocket.

Later that night, as I was drinking and watching television with the wife, I heard the tell-tale sounds of a moving truck outside my apartment. Hey the new neighbours are here, I said to the wife. Our old neighbours had cleared out a few days ago. I went to the window and saw some moving activity occurring. A husband, wife and a couple of black movers were milling around on the street. I noticed that my car was strategically parked in such a way as to cause maximum hindrance to any moving taking place in the vicinity. It was also parked in such a way that there was an inordinately high probability of it getting struck by items of furniture as they made their way out of the moving truck. So, out of the goodness of my heart and concern for my car, I decided to play the part of a good neighbour and extend a friendly greeting to the new folks by moving my car out of the way.

"I'm going out", I said to the wife. "My car's in their way."
"You are drunk", said the wife. "Don't drive too far."

I opened the door and stepped outside, smiling in a manner befitting an amiable inebriate.

"Hi, I live here", I said, pointing to the door I had just emerged from, trying to dispell any doubts that might have existed in their minds about me being someone who walks out of other people's homes.

The guy extended his hand. Before he could greet me, I added, "Do you want me to move my car? So you get some space."

"Sure, thank you very much. I'm....", fuck I don't remember his name. Anyways, I said cool, walked to my car and got in.

A word about my car key. It belongs to the kind that is enclosed within a rectangular casing, popping out when a button on that casing is pressed. So I got into the car and pressed the button. Nothing happened. What the hell, I said to myself. I looked at the key closely. I couldn't see anything, so I switched on the light.

The entire thing was covered in chocolate. Chocolate had permeated into every orifice of that key. Fuck, I said, stupid snickers bar. Apparently, chocolate and keys had engaged in sexual congress inside my pocket, forming a homogenous object that had become incapable of starting cars. Chocolate had also gotten lodged into the space between the casing and the key, thus disallowing the key from coming out. I banged the key around, expecting something to happen. Nothing happened. I knew what I had to do.

I began to suck on the key. I sucked it long and hard, displaying a command over the technique any professional fornicator would be proud of. I sucked it horizontally, vertically and sideways. I flicked my tongue lovingly into all its crevices in order to get rid of the chocolate that was impeding the movement of the key. The chocolate was doing good things to my alcohol-soured mouth. My utter enjoyment of its sweetness added passion to the proceedings. I closed my eyes and kept sucking.

After a while, I opened my eyes in order to test whether the key was ready to pop out. Sure enough, it did, and I was back in business. Sliding it into the car I turned on the ignition and drove away to the other end of the street. As I was pulling away, I happened to look in the mirror. Husband, wife, black mover no.1 and black mover no.2 were all staring in my direction transfixed. I had forgotten to turn off the car light during the sucking. Fuck.

After parking the car, I walked back and with as much dignity as I could muster up, said good night to those good citizens and went back into the apartment. Hopefully they would still be my neighbours in the morning.