Locked out
I’m the biggest fucking retard ever.
I wish I could blame this on Friday the 13th, but it happened this morning and it’s happened before and I *still* haven’t learned the very valuable lesson of LEAVE A SPARE SET OF MY KEYS WITH MY FRIEND WHO LIVES THREE BLOCKS AWAY.
Yes, folks, retardo Doris locked herself out for the second time in less than a month. Somehow this always seem to happen when I go running. The first time I lost my keys entirely - they just popped out of my pocket - and this time I wanted to lighten my load and so took just the keys I needed. That would have been great except that I took the wrong frigging key. Last time was relatively painless. I went to my friend’s place, called my realtor, who called the locksmith, who met me at my place and changed my lock for a mere $150 (owee). This weekend however my friend was away.
Luckily I’m over there so frigging much her doorman and super recognize me, and while they are willing to give me the name and number of their locksmith, the super also has some advice. Take something like a ruler, he says, but flexible, angle it in the doorjamb, and basically jimmy the lock. You hear that thieves everywhere? That’s the way to get through an un-deadbolted door. It’s worth a shot and he’s even nice enough to lend me what he uses, which is essentially a venetian blind.
So I’m walking down the street holding a venetian blind and I feel like everyone’s staring and I’m thinking this shit is never gonna work. But I try. I stand outside my door, angle the venetian blind in like supernice super showed me, and jimmy. Nothing’s happening.
And on top of all of this - having to to deal with my retardation of locking myself out yet AGAIN in less than a month AND standing outside my door attempting to break into my own apartment - I have to listen to my neighbors have big, fat, loud sex for the gazillionth time, punctuated by what can only be sounds of ass smacking. (Some of you may already know that my neighbors are fucking sex-crazed monkeys who act like they’re trying to single handedly raise the birth rate in Japan. And yes I know maybe I wouldn’t feel this way if I were having so much big fat crazy monkey sex myself.)
So I very quickly give up on this and return to my friend’s buidling, for what I don’t know. The use of their phone, I tell myself though I hope and pray the very very nice super will offer to help me out - and he does! I worry that he’ll get in trouble but the equally nice doorman says that’s fine, that as soon as he’s finished with a job upstairs, he can help. As I wait I hope and pray that my neighbors will be done with their monkey sex by the time we get there. It’s one thing to I have to listen to it on my own but to listen to it with a strange - albeit very nice - man is quite another.
Thank goodness they are done by the time we get there, and onto just annoying post-coital giggling. The super jimmies and struggles, struggle and jimmies, and the next thing I know - HALLELUJAH! I’m back in my apartment! And he’s SO nice, he won’t even take the full measly 40 bucks I offer him, but only $20. The award for Nicest Super Ever goes to. . . .
And I thought I wouldn’t have anything to post today.
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A metrocard or 2 usually works pretty well too.
Dude, I get locked out all the time. I have a bad habit of leaving my keys wherever I go.
I usually return to my building and buzz neighbors to let me in, and then either jimmy the lock or crawl through the windows of my neighbor onto the fire escape and then into the windows of my apartment.
There was also a week when I couldn’t find my keys, so I kept my apartment unlocked (ah! I know!) and would have a neighbor buzz me in when I came home.
I’m pretty ridiculous, but I’m happy to report I haven’t had any such issues lately.
2 metrocards, check.
art, i thought about shimmying up the fire escape if worse came to worse (the bottom of the ladder is disturbingly close to the sidewalk). i’m glad i didn’t have to.
i’m also glad i’m not the only retard out there who locks themselves out all the time. ;)
That’s a damn good story. It should be made into a short film.
There’s obviously a conflict, self-reflection, sex, comedy, and a perfect denoument. The giggling coinciding with your entrance into your apartment also leaves the question in the audience’s mind . . . “well, she’s back in, but what if the neighbors start going at it again. will she really be happy to have returned?”
End. Fade to Black.
Next step, Cash in check to millions you get from IFC.
of course i’d have to star in it too.
Just a tip. Feel free to ignore. When I go running I slip my keys onto the laces of my running shoes before tying and then doubleknotting them. That way I don’t have to worry about them falling out of my pocket as I run. Works like a charm. Sorry about your predicament.
thanks, gary. i’ll have to try that, as well as maybe leaving keys all over the city in special hiding places.