The Mystery of the Missing Padlock

Sauntering into work for yet another nocturnal shift under the neon glare, I was greeted not with a pleasant "Good evening," but with an immediate crisis of municipal proportions.

"Can't find the padlock for the bins."

I stared. "Did you actually look for it?"

"Yes mate, looked everywhere."

Naturally. Putting on my metaphorical deerstalker and lighting an imaginary pipe, I muttered to myself that the game was most definitely afoot. A premier supervisor must supervise, after all. My first interrogation was with the cleaner, who was treating the situation with the eerie calm of a seasoned conspirator.

"Any idea where the lock for the bins is?"

"No," he replied, staring into the middle distance. "It just vanished."

A ghost in the machinery. Splendid. I decided to finish my tea... a vital emotional milestone before any grand investigation... grabbed my invisible magnifying glass, and set off into the abyss.

Sure enough, the lock was entirely absent. I looked up at the stars, I looked down at my boots, I looked all around the perimeter like a lost explorer. Nothing. It is a classic workplace move for inanimate objects to simply dissolve into thin air. So, I did what all legendary leaders do when faced with adversity: I gave up.

I trudged all the way back to the office to procure a replacement, aggressively upping my daily step count in the process. Yet, upon my triumphant return to the scene of the crime, the original padlock was sitting there. Hanging on the bin. Bold as brass.

What absolute witchcraft was this?

On my bewildered trek back to the office, I spotted my prime suspect and related this supernatural phenomenon.

He offered a serene smile. "Oh, yeah. I found it. In my pocket."

A flawless investigation. Case closed, tragically.