If you are one of the ones (maybe fives, if I’m arrogantly egotistical) of consistent readers of this mental diarrhea from my brain, you may recall a post from about a month ago titled “Locked In.” I suppose in a karmic twist of fate, the universe thought it appropriate to provide an opportunity to match that with a post titled “Locked Out.”
And so it was spaketh into existence.
Some backstory. I’m staying in a third-floor apartment. It has a nice balcony with a couple of chairs and a small table, accessible through sliding glass doors. Most doors like this “back where I come from!” have a lock that can be engaged, and more importantly in this case, be disengaged.
Apparently, that’s not a thing on these doors. They close, they lock: no questions asked. I noticed that a few days ago, and thought just how fucked I’d be if I accidentally closed them while I was outside.
Well, guess what happened tonight? Yep. I went out to see if I could spot the jets (military, flying low and loud) going over the city. I unconsciously pushed the door walking out. I immediately realized my error, and quickly turned around, but the smooth action of the door conspired with karma, and as I was about to touch the glass and stop the door, I clearly heard the *snick* of the lock.
I was fucked.
No handle. No tools. No way to get down, and besides, without my phone, and without a phone number of the Airbnb host, and shitty language skills, getting off the balcony wouldn’t lessen the level of fucked much, if at all.
No, I was going to have to break in. I tried manhandling the doors open like a green Lou Ferrigno prying open elevator doors. Yeah? No. Fail. I couldn’t even get a fingernail between them.
I thought about the lock. If it was like any other sliding door lock, it’s a simple hook over a loop kind of thing. And, sliders are like screens and other windows in that you can lift them in the path to remove. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could palm the door up high enough to get the hook off the loop. Nothing to do but try. I steeled myself for the effort, flexed mightily (damn, where was La 🦄 to witness my Feat of Strength™️?), and pressed flesh to glass to lift and separate. I was going to be a human Cross Your Heart® bra.
In a gigantic anticlimax, the door lifted easily, the hook glided over the loop, and the door slid open. I was in.
Just another mini-adventure in this big adventure. You know, if the whole retirement gig doesn’t work out, maybe I ought to consider a career in burglary. Seems I’ve got skills.
And so it was spaketh into existence.
Some backstory. I’m staying in a third-floor apartment. It has a nice balcony with a couple of chairs and a small table, accessible through sliding glass doors. Most doors like this “back where I come from!” have a lock that can be engaged, and more importantly in this case, be disengaged.
Apparently, that’s not a thing on these doors. They close, they lock: no questions asked. I noticed that a few days ago, and thought just how fucked I’d be if I accidentally closed them while I was outside.
Well, guess what happened tonight? Yep. I went out to see if I could spot the jets (military, flying low and loud) going over the city. I unconsciously pushed the door walking out. I immediately realized my error, and quickly turned around, but the smooth action of the door conspired with karma, and as I was about to touch the glass and stop the door, I clearly heard the *snick* of the lock.
I was fucked.
No handle. No tools. No way to get down, and besides, without my phone, and without a phone number of the Airbnb host, and shitty language skills, getting off the balcony wouldn’t lessen the level of fucked much, if at all.
No, I was going to have to break in. I tried manhandling the doors open like a green Lou Ferrigno prying open elevator doors. Yeah? No. Fail. I couldn’t even get a fingernail between them.
I thought about the lock. If it was like any other sliding door lock, it’s a simple hook over a loop kind of thing. And, sliders are like screens and other windows in that you can lift them in the path to remove. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could palm the door up high enough to get the hook off the loop. Nothing to do but try. I steeled myself for the effort, flexed mightily (damn, where was La 🦄 to witness my Feat of Strength™️?), and pressed flesh to glass to lift and separate. I was going to be a human Cross Your Heart® bra.
In a gigantic anticlimax, the door lifted easily, the hook glided over the loop, and the door slid open. I was in.
Just another mini-adventure in this big adventure. You know, if the whole retirement gig doesn’t work out, maybe I ought to consider a career in burglary. Seems I’ve got skills.
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