Always hit it with a hammer.

Well, so, that kinda sucked. But not quite as badly as it could have. Here's a long story about bikes, locks, and how I spent a couple of my hours last night.

It started when I rode my bike down to Whole Foods to buy some produce for dinner. My whip was the trusty Sitba. I locked Sitba up with my decade+ old Kryptonite U-lock, the combination model. Essentially an older version of this lock:

I've had it since long before I started law school, so... that's a while. No, it's not super high security, but I've long liked the combo lock, and visually it looks strong to non-pro bike thieves. In significant part, it's visual deterrence: a smart bike thief will skip over the U-lock and go for the cable lock most every time, unless they know bikes, and have plenty of time to spend on stealing.

From a user perspective, it's quick and easy.

Yeah, well, it's quick and easy until it gets stuck and you can't open it.

Basically, you turn the numbers to your combo, then push the button right to release the lock. The button was stuck. Really stuck. I tried and tried it, tried to leverage it with my bottle opener, tried every possible angle. No dice.

So I called J, who was riding home from elsewhere, and asked her to gather a bicycle liberation kit: the 4.5" angle grinder, extension cord, ear and eye protection. And kind of on a whim, a hammer. (Hey, why not, right?) And a printout of the spreadsheet I keep on the computer for insurance purposes, detailing our bikes including serial numbers, and hopefully the receipt for the bike. I also pull up a photo of myself on my phone with the bike, and if needed, once it's cut off, could pull out the seatpost and turn it upside down, and my business card (folded into quarters and taped) will fall out. Basically, conflict management with cops and security if J can't find the receipt or other clear proof I own the bike.

I then went in and explained to Employee A at customer service what I was going to do. Basically, make a big ol' loud hot mess right in front of their store. Employee A is totally cool with it: oh, and I can borrow their cutter, no, even better, she'll get someone to do it for me. I'm doubtful that they actually own an angle grinder in the store, but she gets Employee B, who clarifies that it's a set of bolt cutters, and he can't do it for me without me proving it's my bike, which I'm completely comfortable with, and it's kind of moot, since bolt cutters won't work anyway.

So Employee B gets Store Manager A, who is super sympathetic, agrees the bolt cutters won't work, and is highly enthusiastic about my angle grinder plan. Absolutely, anything he can do, of course I can plug in to their power outlet, yeah, sure! I say my wife is on the way, I'll let Store Security Guard A know when I'm about to do it. Sure! Great!

So I stand around outside for a while, keep messing with the lock, have a nice conversation with Homeless Guy A with a bike, who I'd given money to on my way in to the store. (I also gave money to another guy on my way out. Apparently good panhandler karma doesn't translate into good bike lock karma.) Homeless Guy A is chilling out at the outside tables in front of Whole Foods, which Parking Lot Security Guard A and Off Duty APD Cop A don't dig, so they hustle him out of there with a mix of fake friendliness and slightly cruel sarcasm. I glare from about ten feet away, but they ignore me. Probably for the better to avoid direct conflict, since I'm going to look like a bike thief in a few minutes.

J arrives, I go back inside and mention to Store Security Guard A what I'm about to do, and he's almost as enthusiastic as Store Manager A. (And doesn't bother to inquire whether I own the bike.)

First power outlet doesn't work, second one father away does, so while J is unraveling the 100' extension cord, I decide to bang at it with the hammer, mostly for fun. Two bangs on that nasty little button, and it opens up just fine.

So we collect our little middle class bike theft kit, I put the bike on the back of the car, and Store Security Guard A comes out to congratulate us, and tell us to have a good night.

The moral of the story? I dunno. Maybe that being a white middle class Whole Foods customer with power tools is a really effective modus operandi for being a bike thief? Or maybe: "always hit it with a hammer." Yeah. Maybe that.