Ow, pointy.

Predictably, the Powers That Be have bounced up to subtly let me know I lack the capacity to adequately take care of a home of my own.

I was supposed to go Go-Karting with the guys from work last week, so I bolted home a few minutes early, swapped skirt and heels for jeans and runners, grabbed a thick cosy jacket and hurtled out the door.

THUNK-click.

That’s the noise a door makes when it locks itself between you and your keys. I slipped into a coma for a full minute while my brain processed that bit of information. I walked to my car and tentatively tried the door – nope, I’d locked that too. With my purse and phone inside. I stared blankly at the house for a while, feeling remarkably similar to the way I felt when presented with my end-of-semester physics exam in 1998.

Eventually, I clambered up onto one of my wheelie bins and vaulted over the fence (because my side gate, too, was locked). I did a lap of the house, trying every single window and entry. Then I made another lap for good measure, and wandered into the garage and looked around aimlessly for ‘tools’ I knew I didn’t have. Then I bit my lip and grimly told myself I was a strong independent woman and I CAN HANDLE THIS MYSELF, FOOL.

Ok, I thought, I need to call someone. But who? There’s only a handful of people with phone numbers I know by heart. My parents, my bestie in Canberra, my ex with the Inexplicably Hateful Girlfriend, Pizza Hut, and my work. Work seemed like my best bet, so I walked two kilometers down the road to the nearest pay phone, hoping someone would still be in the office at 5.00pm, and thankful that those annoying 1800REVERSE ads with Pat Rafter had sank into my subconscious. The German Production Manager answered.

“Sweetheart my car is in the servicing, I don’t can come help you until later. You want I maybe call one the other boys and see off they can help opening?”

“They’re Go-Karting and won’t be finished for another couple of hours. I’ll just go home and figure something out.”

“You go back to your unit. I come as soon as I have my car, off I don’t hear from you I assuming you don’t can get in still. Then I come over.”

“Thanks heaps.”    

I tramped dejectedly home and glared at the house again. I knew what I had to do, but it took me a good fifteen minutes to work up the grit to do it.

Misspent youth

Nothing will liven you up quite like crawling on hands and knees through shards of glass.

New window pane: $120
Reverse calling charges: $6.80
Loss of dignity and increasing aversion to spending the rest of my life as a misanthropic catlady spinster: Priceless

At least it’s not a booze related activity.

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21 thoughts on “Ow, pointy.

  1. You shoulda rung Snowy. I could have told you there’s a spare key under that wooden thingy in the background. How do I know this? There’s always a spare key under wooden thingies. Cats it is for you, I’m afraid…

  2. Had I called Uncle Snowy, I’m sure the advice would’ve been more along the lines of “have 750ml of scotch, it will all be ok when you wake up.”

  3. In England, you used to be able to call the fire brigade to let you back in when you locked yourself out – they still bash down the door for you, but now they charge a call-out fee, so it’s cheaper to break in yourself.

    I once locked myself out of my bedsit when I was just wearing a t-shirt and tights (to use the communal toilet – I wasn’t going clubbing dressed like that. Not on that night, anyway). I had to go to the weirdo man who lived upstairs to borrow some trackybums and trainers so I could go across the road to pick up the spare key. Curiously, I’ve not locked myself out since.

    • Weirdo man probably thought it was his lucky night when you rocked up half dressed!

      I probably could’ve called a locksmith, but I’m pretty sure it would’ve cost just as much as a new window anyway. Never heard of the firies doing that kind of thing around here, unless the house is actually on fire.

  4. Oh, there isn’t much worse than that feeling one tenth of a second after you know you’ve done it.
    But, you handled it.
    Now, hide a spare somewhere! 🙂

  5. I used to lock myself out of my CAR all the time. When I finally got smart enough to carry a spare key in my purse, I’d lock the purse in my car, too…

    This went on for years. You’d think I’d remember.

    Luckily for me, this was back when a car was really a horse, so you could ask a nice policeman (this is when I lived in the suburbs) to give it a carrot and you were on your way again.

    Finally, I stopped going it. Just recently, I did it twice. WTF? I thought, “Oh, crap not another 10 years of this!” It seems to come to me in fits. If I forget it a THIRD time, I’m going to make a copy and put it with a magnet under the chassis. My luck, it’ll drop off in the floods, gravel, whatever but it’s my next option (apart from not doing it).

    • So how did you end up getting in all those times? I’ve managed to lock my keys in the car 5 or 6 times in the past – one time I managed to break in with packing tape, the rest of the time my partner had to come around with his spare. Now I have a ‘beep-beep’ thingy and it’s all good.

  6. You couldn’t have found a smaller window?

    For that very reason I leave a certain window in my house unlocked at all times. It’s a real bitch to get to so I’m not worried about thieves. I’ve also got a spare key hidden outside somewhere far from the actual house, but available if needed (and still on the property).

    And I never lock the car. I’d rather someone open the door and discover there’s nothing worth stealing than smash a window.

    You should have called GOF anyway, he could have used the laugh.

    • It was the smallest one I could squeeze my backside through 🙂

      I used to leave a window open all the time for the cat, and it’s saved me a couple of times in the past. Then GOF came over for a visit one day and said “that’s not a very good idea Inga”. That’s what I get for listening to my elders.

  7. I love that you busted out your own window. Aside from the expense and the frustration, it must have been just a little bit of fun, right? 😉

    I hate locking myself out. We used to hide a spare key but we had a number of breakins on our street where the criminals never broke a thing, they just studied people’s habits and found keys or unlocked doors. Now if I broke into our house I’d probably have 4 inner-city police on top of me and a purebred german shepherd eating my ankles.

    • I felt like a criminal! The glazier that came to fix it said it happens all the time, so I didn’t feel like a total twit.

      I guess it wouldn’t be hard to rob someone’s house if you were willing to take the time to observe people, which is a little scary really. Haha, maybe I might come around a break into your house – I do like me some men in uniform! 😉

      And no, no cuts surprisingly!

  8. Oh man, I feel ya. I used to take care of my boss’s pets when they went away. I went outside to the trashcan, and heard that exact sound you described. A gust of wind was the culprit. My car was locked, and my purse, car keys and cellphone were all inside the house.
    I ended up breaking the smallest ground-floor window I could find, and yeah, it was really FUN climbing through. Had to use a stick to pry all the little bits out of the frame at the bottom, because I had to more or less vault myself in.
    Got home, and called my boss, in tears. “I’M SO SORRY, I’LL PAY FOR IT…”
    She was laughing. Said that every one of her four kids and her husband had all done it at least once. Didn’t even make me pay for the window.

    • Wow, breaking my own window was hard, I think I’d freak out completely if I had to do it to someone else’s! At least she was nice about it, it’s not as if you did it on purpose. And you’re lucky no one called the cops on you!

  9. After spending an interesting 4 hours fruitlessly hitting my double glazed back windows with a plank of 2×4 and sitting on the doorstep swearing and cursing until Mr V got home, I have now left a set of keys with a neighbour and another set with my parents who live in the same town. Spare keys are the way forwards.

    • 4 hours?! My god. You’re absolutely correct about spares – I’d leave a spare with my cousin, but she’s as ditzy as I am. And my neighbours are CREEPY AS HELL – they try to get my keys off me every time I go on holidays.

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