It all started so innocently. My sister was going to come over, walk the dog with me and then we we’re going to go shoe shopping.

I was hanging out in the living room, and I heard her come up the steps, so I went to open the door before she got to it – otherwise Eva starts getting a little weird when people knock on the door. I went to turn the doorknob, and it was stuck. It wouldn’t turn.

I called out to her, and told her to get her key out of the lock (sometimes she tries to surprise the dog) and she said she wasn’t even up the stairs yet.

I jiggled the doorknob – nothing. I played with the lock. Nothing. I tried to have HER unlock the door. Still nothing. Totally jammed. Eva and I were locked in the apartment. On a Sunday – and one of us needed to go outside to pee. And one of us was locked on the other side, closer to freedom but wanting a snack.

Marisa had the genius idea to remove the doorknob. So, I found a screwdriver in the myriad of toolboxes (I really need to speak to Frank about how to better organize that hall closet) and I took off the doorknob.

Still no luck. The metal bolt thingamabob was stuck in the door.  We called the maintenance guys who reluctantly agreed to come over and help. After about 45 minutes, and a search for needle nose pliers later  — we got the door open. And it was totally destroyed. But – I was free!!!

And then I shoved a towel in the door to use as a makeshift doorknob. Thank goodness I still had a working deadbolt. The guy agreed to come back tomorrow “after lunch” to install a new doorknob, which I had to go out and buy. Great. So, I just have a towel for a doorknob and a broken door and a deadbolt separating Eva from the rest of the world.

We took our chances and failed. No shoes were purchased, but one new doorknob was.

I waited the whole next morning at home, for after lunch. I called the cell number he gave me. He picked up, I heard kids in the background, I told him who I was and … he hung up. All calls went straight to voice mail.

I called his boss, who informed me that it’s my personal door and my problem, and if the guy doesn’t want to fix it, that’s between me and “the guy.” Also, it’s his day off, so why am I calling him?

Ducky.

So, I called the next best thing to Frank (and a lot less expensive than a locksmith) – Frank’s sister. She agreed to come over that evening and help. And help she did. Apparently, I bought the wrong door plate, so we went back out to Home Depot, and then we located our drill, a working outlet, and some sort of giant file she used to file down the door. She had some crazy word for it, and told me it was similar to some other crazy tool I never heard of. She worked her butt off, and I couldn’t even offer her food or a drink, because I hadn’t gone food shopping. Only shoes.

By midnight, she had finished, Eva and I had been safely secured, I emailed the dog walker to let her know, and I dropped off poor Carol at home.

And that, my friends, is how you get locked IN your apartment.

How was your weekend?

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