Where'd all the good people go?

Sooo sometimes I look at the statistics for this blog because, you know, sometimes it's nice to check up on how many people have an interest in the insides of my brain, and the wonderful Blogspot also provides a summary of information on your audience INCLUDING the phrases that were typed into the search engine to arrive at your page; and today I noticed that one person sailed here on the question "Do the Japanese grow armpit hair?" and to that reader I would like to extend a personal and emphatic welcome because you, my friend, are not afraid to ask the hard questions.

Today I carefully locked Fancy Nancy up at the station, with her two locks, a U lock for the back wheel and a chain lock for the front wheel because she is pretty and fancy and will happily give anyone a ride who asks, so she has to be looked after; and then I carefully went to put the keys in my pocket but instead I dropped them on the pavement next to Ole Fancy and strolled, whistling Hey Soul Sister, off to school. And then, upon my return on the train, some 12 hours later, I fished in my pocket for said keys and failed to find them, and had a minor panic attack as I thought of Sweet Nancy remaining chained to the bike rack, rusting, weeping, deflating, for all eternity; and then I made my way through the station to FanNan's side where I found the keys, carefully deposited in the basket of the bike, with a Post It with a smiley face drawn on it.

My Conclusion:

1. Someone found my keys in their path;

2. Someone looked around for the owner of said keys, but failed to find them;

3. Someone then, resourcefully, tried the keys in the lock of the nearest bike and found them a match;

4. Someone relocked my bike and;

5. Put the keys in the basket and;

6. Presumably missed their train once the time was taken to find paper, a pen and artistic inspiration.

Sometimes I love Japan.