A few weeks ago
I left the keys in my apartment, with the door unlocked and ran downstairs for a moment. Of course, the front security door shut right behind me only seconds before I realized my keys were not, in fact, on my person.
It was cold, I was cold and my swearing and stomping around did little to warm me up.
I didn't know a locksmith or how to contact one on a Sunday in this little town so, in desperation, I approached the police officers crowded outside the bakery just down the street.
A large fellow agreed to see what he could do.
I assumed this meant a call to a locksmith. Rather, the officer broke down the door.
Things are certainly different in Scotland.