Why Don't I Get Locked Out When It's Warm and Sunny?
08 Dec 2008Just a random story from my morning.
I'm leaving my house this morning, packing up all my things, ready to face another Monday at the workplace. I've got my laptop packed. My gym bag packed. I throw on my winter coat and hat. I do the pocket check ...
Left pocket ... wallet ... CHECK
Right pocked ... iPhone ... CHECK
Note: I'm an habitual (a habitual?) pocket checker. I freak out when I'm driving when I notice that my keys aren't in my pocked. You know, because they're in the ignition so the car will go Vroom Vroom.
All good. I lumber out the door, pull it shut behind me, and make it down two stairs when I reach for my keys.
They're not in my pocket.
Nope. They're on the table. Where I left them. Because I'm a huge dumbass.
Now this is a predicament. My landlord isn't around. I don't have a spare key. (Note to self: get spare key). My girlfriend is downtown, at a conference, phone-less.
Also, it's about 10 degrees out.
This is what is affectionately referred to as being boned.
So, I did what any normal male in this situation would do. I started looking for how to break into my own house.
First trip around the house: none of the easily reachable windows are unlocked (good job by me!). All doors are locked.
Second trip around the house: hey! That window might be unlocked! Except I can't reach it.
Third trip around the house: I'll stand on this wobbly trash can. I can reach it! Except the screen is locked in tight. Wait! Is that a screw I see on the ground. I can use this to pry open the screen .... MacGyver-style! Screen is off, windows is open .... hurdle through .... I'm in!
30 minutes, a rip in my jeans, and a bruised ego and I'm in my apartment.
Just in time to see someone walking by looking scared of the guy who just went through the window.
Fantastic.
I try to tell him I live there, but he feigns not being able to hear me and walks off. I call the police to explain what happened. They laugh and understand and wish me a better day. So kudos to the dispatcher. He was nice.
I grab my stuff. Again. Triple checking that I have my keys this time. Off to work ... except there goes a police van ... down my street ... oh poo. I circle around, but thankfully he was just driving by off to somewhere else, not coming to arrest me for breaking into my own apartment.
And that, my friends, is why you always make sure that you practice breaking into houses. You never know when it'll come in handy.