blast from the past!
... from the kinda recent past. Wrote this on Saturday, when it happened, and then thought I posted it but CLEARLY I DID NOT as evidenced by this post. When I say today I really mean Saturday.
Today I locked myself out of my flat! I have never done that before, except once at Reed freshman year, and when the CSO came by he was really sweet about it. No CSOs here in the real world, unfortunately.
I left the keys where I always leave them, on a little table with my land-line phone, near the door. I stepped out, ready to put in some extra field hours in the late afternoon sun, and CLUNK, the door swung shut behind me. Now, Germans are pretty serious about their doors, as mine not only locks automatically when shut but also goes on to drop a security bar into a notch below it. Even with a credit card and mad skillz, you are not going to get that door open. And I didn't even have the mad skillz.
So. My spare set of keys was thoughtfully placed inside a kitchen cabinet, awaiting the next couchsurfers. My landlords are on vacation in Italy until July 18th, so they couldn't swoop to my rescue. I called them anyways just to see if they had any suggestions, but (as expected) no luck there. They were sympathetic, at least. None of my neighbors were home. Three flights down and a quick search of the basement for relevant tools turned up only a broken mirror, a stained mattress, and a push broom. Well, fuck. I would have to leave the building, the key for which was also locked inside my flat.
I propped the building door open with the push broom and went to scout my options. There were not a lot of them. Option 1: freak out, call my friends, get reassurance. I tried that. Didn't help me get into my flat, but did help me think about other possible options. Option 2: Somehow get up to my balcony, and then try to get in through one of the open-just-a-crack windows. I live on the third floor, but after some scouting I found a route that would get me almost there: climb one of the garbage cans to a low brick wall at the end of the parking lot, climb from there to a neighboring one-story pointed roof, go up and then down that, then across a one-story flat roof and finally up to a 1-foot wide ledge that got me within at least reaching distance of the balcony bars.
I did that, ending very dirty and somewhat scraped at the ledge. I could touch my balcony, but without a boost I wasn't going to get up on it. I thought about stealing something from my second-floor neighbors' balcony to balance on, but nothing looked like it would fit on the ledge with me. I briefly attempted standing on a ceramic plant pot, but it broke into a million pieces with only a quarter of my weight on it. Well, fuck again. Back down to think of a better option.
And the building door was closed! Damn! But wait, that meant that one of my neighbors had come home... so I rang all the bells annoyingly and repeatedly until someone answered--the people who live above me on the top floor. Excellent. I explained my dilemma, and they offered to help. They, a German woman and her entirely too attractive Dutch boyfriend, had an aluminum ladder, which we put out their window down to my balcony. And Ryan (the Dutch guy) and I climbed down. Objective balcony: achieved!
Well, that was half the battle. The next bit was an hour-and-a-half of struggling to get my balcony door or my bedroom window open enough so we could get in--the problem, again, lay with excellent German engineering. These windows have three positions: closed and locked (handle down), swinging open (handle horizontal), and cracked open a bit at the top (handle up). Both my door and my window were in the handle up position--and in order to change the handle position to horizontal, the window/door needed to be closed. With the handle inside my locked flat. The screws were all security-bolts, the glass double-paned, and the entire structure entirely too damage-proof. But we tried, with Ryan running up and down the ladder to look at his own windows' functioning and gather various supplies, including some supple wire to hook round the handle and pull with the window closed (brilliant plan!). But no luck.
And then! We noticed some long thin pieces of wood in the corner of my balcony. God knows what they were doing there, but they gave us an idea. You see, all along we had been frustrated by the sight of the keys sitting on the little table only 15 feet (but so far!) away. So Ryan fetched his hand-held electric drill and screwed the two planks together, then twisted a hook out of wire for the end. And, very carefully, he reached the long fetching pole through the gap in the balcony door and hooked up the keys.
Success! I love capable people. And Dutch guys. I baked him and the girlfriend some banana bread as thanks.
Today I locked myself out of my flat! I have never done that before, except once at Reed freshman year, and when the CSO came by he was really sweet about it. No CSOs here in the real world, unfortunately.
I left the keys where I always leave them, on a little table with my land-line phone, near the door. I stepped out, ready to put in some extra field hours in the late afternoon sun, and CLUNK, the door swung shut behind me. Now, Germans are pretty serious about their doors, as mine not only locks automatically when shut but also goes on to drop a security bar into a notch below it. Even with a credit card and mad skillz, you are not going to get that door open. And I didn't even have the mad skillz.
So. My spare set of keys was thoughtfully placed inside a kitchen cabinet, awaiting the next couchsurfers. My landlords are on vacation in Italy until July 18th, so they couldn't swoop to my rescue. I called them anyways just to see if they had any suggestions, but (as expected) no luck there. They were sympathetic, at least. None of my neighbors were home. Three flights down and a quick search of the basement for relevant tools turned up only a broken mirror, a stained mattress, and a push broom. Well, fuck. I would have to leave the building, the key for which was also locked inside my flat.
I propped the building door open with the push broom and went to scout my options. There were not a lot of them. Option 1: freak out, call my friends, get reassurance. I tried that. Didn't help me get into my flat, but did help me think about other possible options. Option 2: Somehow get up to my balcony, and then try to get in through one of the open-just-a-crack windows. I live on the third floor, but after some scouting I found a route that would get me almost there: climb one of the garbage cans to a low brick wall at the end of the parking lot, climb from there to a neighboring one-story pointed roof, go up and then down that, then across a one-story flat roof and finally up to a 1-foot wide ledge that got me within at least reaching distance of the balcony bars.
I did that, ending very dirty and somewhat scraped at the ledge. I could touch my balcony, but without a boost I wasn't going to get up on it. I thought about stealing something from my second-floor neighbors' balcony to balance on, but nothing looked like it would fit on the ledge with me. I briefly attempted standing on a ceramic plant pot, but it broke into a million pieces with only a quarter of my weight on it. Well, fuck again. Back down to think of a better option.
And the building door was closed! Damn! But wait, that meant that one of my neighbors had come home... so I rang all the bells annoyingly and repeatedly until someone answered--the people who live above me on the top floor. Excellent. I explained my dilemma, and they offered to help. They, a German woman and her entirely too attractive Dutch boyfriend, had an aluminum ladder, which we put out their window down to my balcony. And Ryan (the Dutch guy) and I climbed down. Objective balcony: achieved!
Well, that was half the battle. The next bit was an hour-and-a-half of struggling to get my balcony door or my bedroom window open enough so we could get in--the problem, again, lay with excellent German engineering. These windows have three positions: closed and locked (handle down), swinging open (handle horizontal), and cracked open a bit at the top (handle up). Both my door and my window were in the handle up position--and in order to change the handle position to horizontal, the window/door needed to be closed. With the handle inside my locked flat. The screws were all security-bolts, the glass double-paned, and the entire structure entirely too damage-proof. But we tried, with Ryan running up and down the ladder to look at his own windows' functioning and gather various supplies, including some supple wire to hook round the handle and pull with the window closed (brilliant plan!). But no luck.
And then! We noticed some long thin pieces of wood in the corner of my balcony. God knows what they were doing there, but they gave us an idea. You see, all along we had been frustrated by the sight of the keys sitting on the little table only 15 feet (but so far!) away. So Ryan fetched his hand-held electric drill and screwed the two planks together, then twisted a hook out of wire for the end. And, very carefully, he reached the long fetching pole through the gap in the balcony door and hooked up the keys.
Success! I love capable people. And Dutch guys. I baked him and the girlfriend some banana bread as thanks.