I was the last to leave the office one Friday evening and managed to lock myself out without
my overcoat and wallet.

Kneeling in a deserted hallway to try picking an electronic lock with a paper clip, I heard
the seam of suit trousers rip apart.

About then I realised I needed a screwdriver to remove the lock plate, and said so aloud.

Seconds later the elevator doors next to my office opened, revealing a screwdriver in the
middle of the floor.

There was a crackle from the wall speaker next to the elevator.

"This is security," said a voice.

"There's your screwdriver. . . . .

 . . . . Sorry, but I don't have any needle or thread for your pants."