fresh�| day old�| links�| e-mail�| guestbook�| diaryland

2002-05-20 | 4:46 p.m.

when corduroy licorice woke up, he was feeling down in the mouth. as he spit out bits of feather, he realized that he must have been biting his pillow all night long.

***

learn (one phrase of) swedish in a single day!

english:
hello! is there anybody there?

swedish:
hall�! �r det n�gon d�r?

***

while lucy ricardo is a comedy icon to me, i would rather not pattern my life after hers. unfortunately, this weekend i did.

i quite possibly did the dumbest thing i've ever done in my life this last saturday afternoon.

no, it wasn't a failed bid for a spot on ricky's show. it wasn't playing an alien invader to earn money (although i'd have the "it's a moo-moo" line nailed). and i wasn't in over my head on a chocolate factory assembly line.

i locked myself out of my apartment.

it happened around 5 p.m. i was in a rush to finish laundry before dropping in on a wine tasting party, but a pocket pat-down told me that i was keyless and on the wrong side of my door lock. a bit of nausea set in. i retraced my footsteps, searching for my keyring's familiar orange dodad and circle of gold and silver. nothing. i patted down my still wet laundry in the dryer to make sure the keys hadn't fallen in there. panicking, i knocked on my downstair's neighbor door.

"um...do you have the landlord's number? i just locked myself out," i admitted, blushing and mortified.

murphy lawlishly, she had left the number at work, so i was SOL. fortunately, she offered to let me hang out at her pad until another neighbor, who might have the landlord's digits, came home. then she ran off to a party, which was for the best since we would have had to make up a bunch of time-filling small talk. four hours' worth, to be exact.

i made the most of my isolation tank time. for awhile, i stared out the screen door wishing my neighbors out of the cornfield. how did "cable movie couple" manage to leave their tv screen for that many hours straight when i was in such need? i peered around my host's messy desk for a slip of paper that she might have forgotten which would have the landlord's number miraculously scrawled upon it. i found her phone books and managed to look up my landlord's office phone and found a very unhelpful voice mail messaging center waiting for me there.

i then took my seat to screen-door-stare a bit more. the cat joined me, silently alongside as i bemoaned my dumbness. our view? the building next door where an extension ladder rested. it would've reached up to my half-cracked second floor window perfectly, but was padlocked to a gate. i pondered trying to break the combination. maybe holding a shot glass up to the back of the padlock and listening for the tumblers? where else could i get a ladder? hmmm. i wondered how the fire dept. would feel about a non-emergency rescue. i walked outside and stared up at my window. oh, to have the webbing powers of spider-man now.

i think it was halfway into the second hour that i decided that attempting to climb the tree behind my building to reach across to my bedroom window would be my best bet. i wanted to be hooooommmmmeee! even if it might mean the risk of bodily injury.

this step of the operation involved me awkwardly undoing neighbor girl's back window screen, standing atop the gas meter for a moment, and then trying to wedge my socked foot into the first split in the tree. as i began to pull myself up, gripping tree bark, i was overcome with an awareness of my complete lack of upper body strength. i couldn't even get into a standing position, much less scale the thing. dropping back in defeat, i brushed myself off and climbed back through the dusty window, hoping the cat wouldn't decide to bust a move and cry freedom right then and there. that would've been the end. and me with no ethel as back-up. dangnabbit. by this time, the tasting party would have begun. while the wine was breathing, i was sighing.

another 45 minutes of driveway pacing, screen door viewing and self-pity followed. then another glimmer of hope arose in my throat.

"you know," i mused to myself and the kitty, "i bet if i tried a little harder, i could make it up that tree." not unlike mothers who speak of forgetting the pain of labor, i had forgotten the pain of my first climbing failure. channeling the stick-to-it-iveness of the little engine that could, i began the second ascent of my own personal everest. attempt two met the same outcome...still SOL, but now with even dirtier socks! and sore arms! and a resounding sense of poopiness.

around 8:45 p.m., i decided more decisive action was needed. even if my other neighbors ever came home and i got my landlord's home number from them, he could be out of town for the weekend. i did not want an impromptu sleepover with my stranded laundry as a bedmate.

i started calling 24-hour locksmiths. evidently, like the old steven wright joke, they didn't mean they were available 24 hours in a row. their voice mail "we'll get back to you" messages mocked me. finally, a live voice answered.

"we can be there in under 30 minutes," said the dear, blessed rescuer on the other end of the line who shall remain nameless since i didn't ask him his name.

i didn't bother to ask how much it would cost either. i didn't care. even four grand would seem reasonable at this point. i just wanted back innnnnn!

in prompt domino's pizza time, a dashing argentinian dude showed up (about five minutes after the rest of my prodigal neighbors. gee, thanks, guys.) and picked my lock in 5 seconds flat. real reassuring, there. do the criminals have that little crochet needle thing, too? well, at least i knew i didn't have to worry about someone breaking in my back window now that i've seen how difficult a proposition that was (unless they're acrobats in cirque du soleil, but the tree twigs would totally rip their leotards, so that's not going to happen).

cut to me paying a painful amount of money to the macgyver from south america. then he says, "could you try the lock with your key? i just want to make sure it's working."

i picked up my ring of keys from the table and realized i'd taken off just one key to lock up during my laundry rounds. i do that sometimes to avoid hauling the whole unlocking collection downstairs. hmm...where was it? i glanced around the table and, by habit, reached into my pocket.

oh my god. oh my god. oh my god. um, yeah. something told me not to reach to the bottom of my pocket in front of the locksmith. "pull out!" my brain screamed, "pull out!"

"i'm not sure where it is..." i started saying, frazzled. he reassured me the lock was probably fine and made a quick exit. when he was safely down the stairs, i slid my hand into my jean pocket...a bit farther...to the seam...and the cold metal of a key kissed my fingertips.

nausea made a big comeback. self-doubt shish-kebobed my gut. could i have? i must've. i did.

i'd just put myself through all that torture, endangering my very limbs by trying to climb limbs, bugging all my neighbors, missing a wine tasting event...and i had my key in my pocket the whole time?

urhm. hell. a few chris farley headwacks and "i'm so stupid! stupid! stupid!" were in order.

as my nerves settled and the night wore on, i started getting all philosophical about the macgillicuddy mishap. i told myself i'd learned a valuable, if expensive, lesson. i realized that it was kind of symbolic that i had had the answer (or key, if you will) to my own problem within my grasp the whole time, but ignored it in my rush and fuss.

it was a total wizard of oz moment.

heel click central.

nevertheless, i still feel like a heel.

<----������� ---->


take a peek at these - (c) 2000-2003 nictate:

health tip
2005-03-16

health tip
2005-03-16

moving house
2004-11-19

quibbling with quitherfeather
2004-11-17

catcher in the wry
2004-11-16