I received an interesting call from a customer in Bothell. She told me that her neighbor had entrusted her with the task of watering his house plants when he went for an extended trip to his home in India. But there was something wrong with the lock because the key he gave her wasn’t working right. It broke off in the lock when she tried to use it. Now she couldn’t get in and the plants were in peril. Could I let her into the house?

“It sounds like you didn’t have the key for your neighbor’s house,” I told her.

“No, no,” she assured me. “It was his house key. He gave it to me.”

“Did you ever successfully use the key to get in?”

“Well…no. But it was my neighbor’s house key. I’m sure of it.”

Realizing that this discussion was not going to be productive, I explained the steps she would have to take. This is a discussion that I’ve had with countless housesitters and petsitters in the past. Because it’s not your house, I can’t just let you into It, I told her. I would need to feel very secure that the owner of the house has given approval to let me let you into the house. What I’d like to see is a photo of your neighbor holding his ID, along with a note from the same source giving me permission to gain entry to the house. I would then check the neighbor’s name against public records. Once I had all of that I could do this job.

“Okay, but it’s middle of the night in India. I don’t want to wake him up.”

“This will have to wait until tomorrow, then.“

“What if I just show you my ID and prove that I’m the neighbor? Then will you let me in?”

I explained why that would not be sufficient. I reiterated my request for the owner to send a picture of himself holding his license. In reality, I believed her. It would be very audacious to hire a locksmith to help her commit a burglary. But I enjoy my livelihood and my freedom, so I’m not leaving any room for doubt, and especially not over some house plants. So I left her to decide whether she wanted to meet my conditions are start looking for a less punctilious locksmith.

The next morning I awoke to an email in my inbox. It contained the note I had asked for and two photos. One was of a driver’s license bearing the address in question, and the other was of the subject of that ID. If you’ve been reading carefully, you already know that this is not quite what I asked for; the owner and ID were not in the same photo. What’s more, the name on the ID was not the same as the name in the email address. I looked closely at the owner’s photo and noticed that the home the person was standing in looked very much like one of the newer houses that I frequently visit in Bothell. So I checked the photo’s metadata, and sure enough, it had been taken three months prior. This raised more concerns than it settled. It’s like if I’d asked someone from a dating app to send me a picture of herself holding up three fingers to make sure she wasn’t catfishing me, and she sent me a photo of herself in front of Epcot holding up the peace sign.

It didn’t work for me, so I had to get back to the neighbor with the bad news. She didn’t take it well.

“Aw, come on,” she cajoled. “I gave you almost everything you asked for. Can’t you just make an exception for me?”

“I’m sorry. No. It looks like we’ll just have to wait another day to get the right documents from your neighbor.”

“Listen,” she said. “It’s very important that I get into that house. My neighbor has trusted me to take care of his plants. And inside he has a HOLY BASIL. This is an extremely important plant in our religion and it is very delicate. I must water it.”

Now, I’ve let people into houses in a hurry for all kinds of reasons. Once a lady was trying to get to a job interview on time. One time a young woman desperately needed to get to her medication. More than once a locked door has separated a caregiver from a small child. But this horticultural emergency is the strangest and least compelling reason I have heard to break protocol and risk helping a stranger commit a crime. As desperate as this customer was, and as much as I like playing the hero, the holy basil didn’t move me.

So we waited another day for the owner to send what I asked for. In the end I opened the door, confirmed that the broken-off key had nothing to do with the lock that it was lodged in, and made a working key. I assume the basil was fine.

As an epilogue to this story, I should say that later in the same day I was in the home of another Indian customer, recounting this story with some curiosity as I worked on her lock. She went off into another room and came back with a leaf, which she handed to me. It was, indeed, the leaf of a holy basil plant. I wasn’t sure if I should put it in my mouth, but she encouraged me to try it. I would say that it tasted like a cross between mint, basil, and clove. She confirmed that it serves an important religious function and explained to me that it is a very delicate plant that is hard to grow in this climate, and that it is particularly sensitive to overwatering.