On my way home today I noticed that the transponder that opens the apartment garage door had fallen off the inside of the windshield; it's been very hot in the south bay, and the adhesive on the Velcro strips holding it had melted.
No problem, I thought; this had happened before. No doubt the device (about the size of a deck of playing cards, but half the thickness) was on the floor somewhere. I waited until I got off the freeway, and parked temporarily so that I could reach over and pick the thing up.
Except that it wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere. It had disappeared entirely. I poked around in the car for a half hour until I gave up. I left the car on the street, went up to the apartment and sent an email to the garage manager asking him for help replacing the thing. I didn't expect to hear from him until the weekend was over, but he called me well after 9PM and asked me to come down to the building office.
I picked up my jeans, which I had removed due to the heat, intending to put them on and head down to the office... and that's when I found the damned transponder.
Glued to my butt.
It had apparently fallen on the driver's seat, sticky side up, and it firmly clung to my derriere for hours. I didn't feel it, and it had been concealed by my shirt tail, so no one else saw it, either.
I feel like a complete dolt. But at least I can get into the garage.