WHEN GOOD LOCKS GO BAD
also known as the day the doorways disappeared
A.K.A ‘Screw you Mr. Door’

Just how many bad decisions can you make in 30 seconds? How many of those bad decisions turn will turn from unfortunate choices into full blown mistakes? I don’t think I even want to know how many of those mistakes will come back to bite me in in the ass, or exactly how unforgiving they turn out to be. Of course in the real world you don’t get a choice. You find out whether you want to or not.

For example, consider this sentence:

I get back from the store, take off my coat, jumper and hat and chuck them all on the sofa, shutting and locking the door behind me, before slipping on the safety chain. Then I take off my shoes and put on my slippers, but instead of sitting on the chair to watch T.V I suddenly decide to do a little housework. More specifically I decide to take out the trash. Without putting my coat back on or slipping my phone into my pocket as I usually do (this whole ‘trash taking out’ thing usually only takes 30 seconds) I grab the trash bag and head out the back door, of course, locking it behind me.

Now, that might seem like a normal enough situation but somehow it leads to a much less than everyday scenario. In fact, believe it or not that simple course of action actually contains 13 mistakes. Yes 13. And trust me, that was seriously unlucky for me. So where was I? That’s right, after lugging the trash (apologies to the English - I of course mean rubbish) to the wheelie bins out the back, I jog back in the back porch, to the warm, fish out my keys and slide them into the lock. I begin to turn. Twist, twist, twist, crack. Hmm, not a great noise. Somehow the key has turned but the lock hasn’t opened, the key seems to have slipped around without pleasing the key genie or turning the pins or doing whatever else it needs to do to make the lock work. If truth be told I couldn’t care less, so long as I can get in my house. Except right now I can’t. Hmm. I take out the key and try again. Crack. Same thing. Stupid freaking key. I take it out, look at it to see if i can work out what's wrong, realise that i know less than nothing about locks and key things but decide to rub it with my sleeve anyway so i don't feel completely inadequate. I try again. CRACK! Same thing. . Well I don’t worry about it too much. I nip out of the porch into the cold, wearing nothing but my fetching Scrabble™ themed T-Shirt, and mosey on over to the front door, again jogging so I can get out of the cold. This is bound to go better than the last time I tried to open a door. And yes it did. Technically. Well the lock worked at any rate. I confidently open the door with a powerful stride in order to get into the warm. But the door stops. Stops dead in it tracks. Alarming, but at this split second in time I’m more concerned that I don’t seem to be stopping at all. In fact my momentum carries me on at quite a rate - my outstretched arm perched on the doorknob starts to bend, my torso starts to fall forward and before I can stop myself, my face stops me by introducing itself to the wooden panel on the door. OUCH. Or should I say OUCH and FUCK. I left the fucking key chain on the inside of the door. That’s not good. I also look like a dickhead to everybody that saw me on the street. That’s really not good. So let me recap. At present I’m locked out, in the Chicago winter cold, in nothing but a T-Shirt with a chained up front door and a bum lock on the back one.

MISTAKES 1 - 8
I get back from the store, take off my coat (1), jumper(2) and hat(3) and chuck them all on the sofa, shutting and locking the door behind me, before slipping on the safety chain(4). Then I take off my shoes and (5) so I could put on my slippers(6) [and]… I suddenly decided to take out the trash(7)
. . . . .
I grab the trash bag and head out the back door, of course, locking it behind me(8).

So what’s the plan? Try the back lock again I guess. I run through the cold to the porch but i've already got that familiar snking feeling in my stromach, and despite the frezing cold outside i'm beginning to sweat. Cold, dread sweats. I slip the key back into the dodgy lock. Twist, turn, twist, JAM. Hmm. Now, not only will it not turn but now it won’t come out either. So what do I do? aLet me jiggle it a little. Jiggle, jiggle, SNAP.

FUCK.

DOUBLE FUCK.

I’m not really sure what to do now. I’m pretty much completely locked out. Half a key ignoring the laws of physics so it can piss me of by getting impossibly jammed in the back lock, and a burglar proof key chain stopping me getting in past the front lock. So really what can I do? I guess I ring someone.

Mistake number 9
[And without] slipping my phone into my pocket as I usually do (9)

Crap. This isn’t good. I haven’t actually seen one but I guess I’ll have to try to find a payphone to ring someone.

Mistake numbers 10 - 12
Without putting my coat back on… (10-12)
- - > READ - without putting my coat on which contains all my money,
the bills(10),
the coins(11),
my credit and debit cards(12),
not to mention the possibility of any warmth.

Well this sucks. I guess Rachel will be back soon and she’ll be able to help. Actually wait, no she won’t. Her keys won’t help now either. Well I guess at least she’ll be able to ring someone, maybe even a locksmith at this rate. Oh wait, no she won’t. She’s not at work today. In fact she’s in another state - in Milwaukee Wisconsin on a business trip for work for the whole week.

Well I’m not a panicker but things really don’t seem to be going my way. I’m stuck outside with nowhere to go for a couple of days, in 31 degree temperatures (no not Celsius - Fahrenheit which incidentally is minus numbers in Celsius) in the middle of Chicago, with no money, wearing nothing but a T-Shirt (well and slackpants of course, i'm not a complete pervert) as it starts to get dark. Oh I and I can’t even stay at friends as I have to get in by tomorrow to get everything I need for my immigration appointment with the U.S. Govevernment. So what do I do? I guess the only thing to do is to work on the chain blocking the door. It’s much to solid to break (obviously) but I can open the door a few inches and I can claw about inside to see what I can do. Aha. Two screws hold it in place. If I can only undo them I’ll be back indoors. However, the only thing I have on me is my keys and a tissue. My keys don’t fit in the screws. The tissue doesn’t work as a screwdriver. Do I have any coins on me at all? No. Even my lucky coin I always have in my little comedy pocket on my jeans? No. Not very fucking lucky then is it? I start to look about on the pavement for coins. No luck. I start to look on the pavement for screwdrivers. No luck there either. I even knock on the neighbours’ doors to see if they have a screwdriver. No answer. No good but there’s one more person I can ask. Well more accurately one more group of people. That bunch or burly Mexican removal men who seem to be talking in Spanish and whether or not it’s my imagination giving of extreme fuck off vibes. I decide to use the English card. Putting on my best quintessentially befuddled British accent I plead with them for a screwdriver. As it turns out there was no need for pleading. After a few seconds of me nervously waiting around as they converse in Spanish they decide to go and get me a screwdriver. Apparently. I say that because after ten minutes of me freezing my testicles off they still haven’t come back out. Hey I’ll cut a very long story short. Eventually whoever they are moving comes out and after a pleasant exchange he does give me a screwdriver, and the necessary chat about where in England I’m from etc. Incidentally he’s from Pennsylvania, has an office his London and my new neighbour is in fact called Mary who would invite me in for tea except “it’s a bit of a mess at the moment what with the moving in”. Lovely people.
But I digress. The important thing is I have the screwdriver. I run back to the door and begin.

I don’t know if you have any idea how hard it is to do what I’m about to do, or why you would you ever need to know how hard it is but I’m going to try to explain. I was attempting to unscrew a security chain which is designed specifically to make it hard to unscrew so that burglars can’t get in, by removing screws which feel like they had been put in by a man with the strength of an ox on muscle gainers. Oh, and did I mention that the ’ox man’ was using an industrial strength screw insertion device? Yeah, well he was. Oh and then he varnished over the screws, before using the fiers of Hades to dry and engrain the varnish on.. I forgot to mention that. Also, I was attempting to do the aforementioned screwing (or maybe anti-screwing) with a screwdriver that was much too long so I couldn’t get the proper control of the instrument or the proper purchase on the handle. Oh, and the door only opens two inches wide and during all this the cat is jumping up at me and rubbing it’s head against my hands threatening to knock it out of my hands. And I don’t even want to think about having to go back the Mexican men empty handed (although as it turns out later they were actually very nice.)
But there we are. Eventually I get the screws out. Job done right?

Maybe.

The end of the chain is still attached to the wall. Oh shit. The screws are out now, shouldn’t the chain be in a heap in the floor, defeated, feeling very sorry it itself, and frankly quite ashamed that it couldn’t do the one thing that it was designed specifically to do - keep people out? I’m just praying that it’s not glued to the wall as well. I don’t know what to do if it is. I grab the chain. Its all or nothing time. I kneel on the floor ready to push the chain in three,
Two,
One,
Crash….
So where do I find myself now? There is a chance that I find myself flat on the floor, as the door flings open and I fall on my face, chain in hand, feeling slightly silly. But I’m in. Thank goodness I’m in. And I never want to leave again. I do of course to hand back the screwdriver, thank the new neighbours profusely and kick the back door heartily to make myself feel better but I may never again.

So there we have it. That’s the story of the day the locks went bad - and my thirteen mistakes.

What do you mean there’s only twelve. Oh, the thirteenth? It’s like you don’t even know me…

Then, instead of sitting on the chair to watch T.V I decide to do a little housework (13).

But don’t worry. I’ve learnt my lesson.