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Monday, October 8, 2012


Remember that onetime I locked myself out of my apartment.  That was less than cool. 

Well it happened again and is was even less cool than the last less than cool situation.

This is a saga so get comfortable.

I got up at 6:45 on a Saturday morning to go for my run.  After my 3 mile run I arrived back at my at my apartment sweaty tired/on verge of death/exasperated.  Reaching into my pocket I searched for my key.  You know, that super helpful key that let's you into your house that you've locked.

It was gone.  No key in said pocket where originally placed.  I have to be somewhere at 8:45 and so I figure I have just enough time to rerun my route and still be on time, just skip the shower (which gross, but a possibility).  So I rerun my route, the whole time staring at the beautiful golden leaves on the ground, which at every glimmering light look like a key.  Of course, I'm wearing no contacts, so what do I know? I quite convinced I look like a rabid dog looking for a fix.  I arrived back at my apartment and still with no key in hand and now have run 6 miles. 

Now I'm in a real pickle.  My super convenient phone is in my locked apartment, along with my other keys. I finally succumb to the idea of calling a locksmith.  But how?  No phone.  I walk to the main street and Eat Local, a locally sourced prepared meals shop that is miraculously open and a very sweet young lady is working there calls a locksmith. 

An eternity passed, I've now missed my 8:45.   It's close to 9:30 by the time the lock smith arrived.  Super long story short: my super safe deadbolt lock could not be picked. It could not be drilled.  It could not be drilled in so much that the locksmith busted 8 drill bits trying to get in. 

Now, I have a 10:45 appointment that I CANNOT miss (it's personal and borderlines on an overshare so I'll spare you).  And with every moment passing I am calculating how fast I have to drive to get there on time.   The locksmith FINALLY gets in at 10:20 am and I run in, to get my wallet.

"So, your total comes to $300." Are you effing kidding me? $300?! I about fell over, but didn't have time. I lay down the Amex and bemoan being an adult. 

I race off to my appointment and make it just on time. 

By the time I get home I at almost 1:00 pm:

  • Have been up since 6:45
  • Have run 6 miles
  • Am freezing cold from still wearing my sweaty running clothes
  • Have not ate or drank a morsel or a drop
  • Am pissed I just spent $300 to open my effing door
  • Have survived my personal appointment. Barely. 
  • Feel stranded, helpless and lonely
  • Oh right, and now I have no way to lock my place from inside or the outside and won't until the following Wednesday.

Here's where shit gets real:

I'm a little paranoid and hyper-sensitive about my personal safety.  So with an non-lockable apartment I had only one option. 


That's right, I was going to startle my would-be attacker.  Works every time.

So armed with a box fan, dining room chair and a hula hoop, I strategically placed each item on the door to ensure the largest noise possible.  This was not scientific, strictly based on hypothesis. 

Yeah...that happened:

If intruders made it past the first roadblock, certainly the wouldn't expecting a second.  So I created a second.  I took a area rug rolled up and placed it diagonally across the top of the stairwell.  Crazy, you say. Genius, I say.

For FOUR nights, after getting ready for bed I would booty-trap my apartment, thinking of various Rube Goldberg like scenarios that would ensure my safety. And for FOUR mornings I would wake up, un-booby trap my door and leave it unlocked and be grateful that I'm wasn't particularly attached to any of my earthly possessions.  

The landlord did eventually replace the deadbolt and my belongings and I were safe.  In this whole process I learned a very important lesson. 

Stop running. 


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