The Locker

The custodian at the gym heard the too-familiar banging and yelling from the locker room.
“Not again,” he groaned.
He went to his tool chest, pulled out the bolt cutters, and headed to Davey Jones’ Locker.
Davey Jones was pounding on the door, calling the combination lock a backstabbin’ scurvy dog.
“Please stop that, Mr. Jones,” said the custodian. “I’m just going to have to bend all that metal back.”
The custodian snipped off the padlock and opened the locker. “Have you ever thought about just using a lock with a key?” he said.
At least he tipped in gold.