I've lived here for almost a year (a whole year on June 21, thank you very much), and I haven't done it yet. But today I did.
Yup, I finally locked myself out of my house.
And let me tell you how.
Crazy night at work last night (I won't go into details, but suffice to say, tires were slashed, police were called, and people were arrested), and I was exhausted, but slept horribly (too much angst about work -- surprise, surprise!). So, I overslept this morning, and was in a rush to get ready & get to work, because it was Family Day.
My co-director called me at about 8:25, as I was putting the leash on the dog, and getting ready to head out for our walk. We talked for a couple minutes, and then Hadley & I headed out.
And once the door clicked behind me (the giant, metal door to the main stairwell that keeps out the unwanted), I patted my pocket to reassure myself that my keys were there, as I do every time I hear the door click. (Note to self: check for keys *before* door clicks. Duh.)
No keys. No cell phone. Just a socially-awkward dog, a raincoat, and a dollar in my pocket.
I did not panic. (I don't care if you don't believe me, I still didn't panic.)
I calmly walked the dog around to the back patio -- which has a 3.5" wall around it, and checked to see if any of my windows were unlocked. Being a good, safe sort, they were not.
I thought brightly to myself, "Oh -- there's that hide-a-key that Dad gave me, for just such an emergency!" And then I remembered that I'd never hidden the hide-a-key. Crap.
I picked Hadley up and over the wall (which he was none-too-thrilled about, I might add), and then climbed over to survey the patio. Doors -- locked. Check. Windows -- still locked. Check.
I pried up the edge of one of the screens (with my beach umbrella -- very MacGyver of me, don't you think?) and checked the smallest window again. Still locked. I thought about breaking the window, and thought that surely, this would be the least expensive to replace (as in, less than the two sets of French doors). I seriously considered breaking the window for a hot minute.
And then I heard it. The sound of some sort of small power tool, coming from the maintenance garage at the end of the drive. I shimmied back over the wall, and went to investigate, hardly daring to believe my change of luck.
Saved by a power sander. And by the nicest maintenance guy ever. I was only a little teary when I asked if he could please let me in (because I'd locked myself out, and I was really, really, really sorry) -- which, of course, he did.
The day got only marginally better -- one of the low-lights was merging from Rt. 1 onto 95 (across 5 lanes of traffic) while driving a school van with a let's-just-say *pharmacologically-liberal* mother, and having her say to me (after I apparently hadn't heard the questions she'd been asking), "So, you just don't know anything, is that it?" That was special.
My day ended happily, though, with a really lovely (and inexpensive -- score!) manicure & pedicure. My feet are now ready for sandal season (with the exception of the calluses quickly building up on the soles -- thanks *so* much, 3-Day training!), and my nails are pretty & happy.
I do have a giant bruise on my thigh as a memento of my morning escapade, and I'm pretty sure I'll be hiding that hide-a-key as soon as I get a(nother) spare made.