Eek! in Everyday Ramblings

There is a story about this not very interesting picture of my patio door midday yesterday. Kes and I were exchanging photos of our various forms of frozen precipitation as the snow, rime, freezing rain, and big wind were taking a bit of a break.

I had been going out periodically to put out more food for the birds and change the water in the bird bath but as the snow was accumulating it was getting harder and harder to open the door.

Just at sunset I went out, got the bird feeder, and the bird bath and was going to shovel a path from the door to the hook for the feeder. More snow had accumulated by then.

And then the door closed.

And I could not get it opened. It looked like the lower lock had popped.

There I am in the patio well in the dark, no keys, no phone, nothing. All quiet on the breezeway.

I did have a key taped to the inside of the large, upturned flowerpot out there, but it was a key to the top lock. The upturned flowerpot was frozen into place. I admit I took some fear driven aggression to it and was able to free it. The duct tape was frozen as well but freeing my hands from my (thank god I had them on) gloves I got that loose too.

But it was not helpful on the door.

See that wall there. It is about 4 feet high. This is where teaching 7 yoga classes a week at 69 years old comes in handy. I turned the flowerpot over, climbed on top of it, got over the railing, (which has wood rot and is not stable and is supposed to be replaced) and arrived out in the breezeway.

And a bit of a miracle occurred. My former friend Charity, who does not speak to me even though we were quite close during the early part of the pandemic, (she has never explained why but my guess is her girlfriend became jealous and that was the end of that) was home and answered her door.

We called the management company emergency number. Again, and again. Four times I got music and a hold message. Then I called Kes and Most Honorable (I had their land line number memorized) and they called Mrs. Sherlock who has a set of keys. But she didn’t know where they were. She had told me she was going to leave them in her glove compartment in case I needed her that would be where she needed them.

The roads are impassible here without four-wheel drive. Mrs. Sherlock does not have four-wheel drive in her old red Prius. Plan C was to find the keys and send them over alone in an Uber.

Did I mention it was 15 degrees out?

While I was talking to her on the landline Charity scored and got the management company answering service on her mobile. A few minutes later a vibrant young woman called back and said she was finishing up making a boiler work and could get to the office and get the keys and be over in a half hour.

Charity had an assignation to go to and was restless and about as freaked out as I was about being in her incredibly clean apartment. We chatted about my displacement and the staff at the management company. And then my savior called to say she was out front. She was so good natured and vivacious and said she had locked herself out going to her laundry room earlier in the day so not to feel bad.

When I got into the apartment and gave her my driver’s license to photograph, we realized my patio door wasn’t locked. It was stuck, swollen stuck.

I still would have had to scale the wall and the railing even if I had keys.

I may be able to negotiate on the lock out fee because of that but honestly, I don’t care. I am so grateful to my family, my friends, my inexplicably former friend, and to be warm inside being bullied for food by a laid back gray and white tuxedo cat named Carlo.

Last updated January 14, 2024