After a recent conversation, I am forced to re-evaluate all my childhood memories. ‘Cause turns out things that I thought were totally normally in my head are not anything that anyone else thinks. Or, as I prefer to think of it, my brain is just remarkably creative.
In the house I grew up in, I knew the dead bolt was locked when it looked like this. Well, mostly like this. Approximately like this.
Mostly it looked like it was a face with a mustache when the door was locked. So, in the grand tradition of Stephanie, I made up a quasi-mnemonic device that really serves no good purpose. In this case, during my daily routine obsession with checking the door locks, I would glance at the door and think, oh good. Mustache.
The mustache became not just linked, but synonymous with security. Can we talk about the irony there?
I have since suffered multiple setbacks upon realizing that some dead bolts look like this:
What am I supposed to think when I see that? Nose? Beak? Everyone knows that noses and beaks have nothing to do with dead bolts. It’s absurd. Irrational.
Even worse are these:
Okay. I can see that it has a little lock symbol. And I can see an arrow. But actually you mean that it’s locked when it’s at a weird angle. Okay. Cool. I’ll never remember that.