This month has proven unusually dull – in terms of blog subjects, anyways.
But, since this blog documents the little things in our lives, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of the more recent memories we’ve made in our newlywed apartment: I have been locked inside the house twice over the past couple of weeks.
Please allow me to explain.
Our apartment is on the bottom floor of an old house. Our landlord lives above us, and another girl occupies the third floor. The front door to our apartment boasts the original brass doorknob.
The original, dirty, rusted, wonky, unattractive doorknob. But its original – so it stays.
Said doorknob is extremely finicky and has taken to falling off for weeks on end if we happen to look at it the wrong way. As abruptly as it enters this dislocated state, our doorknob will randomly resort to good behavior (after being banged and jammed back on a fair number of times).
The past couple of weeks, our doorknob has been particularly unhappy (except for the 5 minutes our landlord came down to have a look). Twice this month I have been heading out the door to work, only to find the doorknob on the floor and myself locked inside the apartment with no way to turn the metal do-hikey and free myself.
The first time this happened I ended up laid out on the floor twisting and turning with all my might until the razor-blade-esque latch holding the door closed budged slightly and I toppled backwards in surprise.
The second time, I was not so lucky and all of my floor gymnastics proved unsuccessful. Luckily, this time, I heard a person coming down the stairs. Instead of maintaining composure and pretending to be a normal human being, I started yelling, “Help! Can you open my door? Can you let me out of here?”
I heard someone pause on the other side of the door. I yelled again to communicate the helplessness of my situation.
My door opened, revealing the wary and alarmed tenant from the third floor. I was still sprawled out on the floor at this point and was only able to mutter out half an explanation before she fled out the front door of the house.
When I told Sean this story that evening, he asked me why I hadn’t thought to leave through the back door.
That’s the thing though, when I get myself in the middle of one of these idiotic situations – only the embarrassing solutions come to me.