Lock Me Out & Stuff Me In

Every single word of what I am about to write is true. I believe today's blog entry is bound to become an instant classic and I only hope I can paint a picture worthy of a laugh with a snort.

Make sure to look closely at this window illustration. Take a good, hard look. Notice how small that opening looks. Uh-huh. Feel free to refer back to this photo while reading the tale. Feel free to recall my recent rantings about weight gain and changed body shape, while you are at it.

I was at work this morning (yes, I am going to speak about what I do not speak, as this technically has nothing to do with the actual work I do). I had gone in to clean one of the programming areas--I have to go in on a Saturday and clean while the staff is not present--with them there, I can't throw away one thing. (Whenever I try and throw something away, they say things like, "No! Don't throw away that moldy, coffee-stained half piece of paper--we can use it next week.") I went to the office right after walking with MJagger; suffice it to say, I was unshowered, unkempt, smelly, sweaty and wearing what I had slept in. I figured it would be fine to be so gross while cleaning for four hours.

Still looking at that window opening in the photo? Good.

I'm off to a great start--this is no time to lallygag. I'm cleaning away, stuffing loads of crap into garbage bags, throwing things out like there is no tomorrow, when I realize my pile of garbage has lots of gross, used things that people in the building might like to have. (We rent office space in an apartment building for low-income tenants.) I make a little "FREE, PLEASE TAKE!" sign, grab some scotch tape and go outside our office area to tape the sign to the wall. I stick the sign on the wall and hear....

Click.

Oh shit.

The office door has closed and I am unfortunately standing outside of the locked office door. Usually, I wear my keys on my belt loop so I don't lose them, but I'm in my gross work out clothes that don't have a belt loop. Although I know I am not wearing my keys, I reach for where my keys would usually be, anyways....but, all I feel is my pants--no keys hanging there. Shit shit shit.

Okay, so locking oneself out of a building is not that big of a thing. I've locked myself out of various places many a-time. I shake my head and chastise myself a little bit. Just as I'm getting over my self-directed anger, I realize:

I don't have my cell phone.
I don't have a list of co-worker phone numbers.
I don't have my car keys.
I don't have my wallet or purse.
I'm seven miles from home.
I don't even have any gum.

It's just me and my smelly arm pits.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. This is SO going to cut into my cleaning time. Just about the time I realize that this isn't going to be a really big deal--I can walk home or to MJagger's house to use her phone--I notice that I have left some of the windows open. I can't leave them open over night--this isn't the best of neighborhoods--so, I am indeed going to have to solve this problem I have created for myself.

My options, being quite limited, lead me to search for Harry Scary. Harry's this guy who lives in the apartment building and is always milling about. When I get to work, no matter what time of day, he's always out there picking up garbage or smoking someone's cigarette butt or talking to some homeless person who happens to be walking by. Harry Scary is indeed hairy and he is indeed scary. No one is going to mess with Harry Scary. Although he is greasy and smelly and dirty and hairy, he is actually very nice to have around--he may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but he always looks after me when I go to and from the building, always taking the time to make sure I am safe.

He reminds me of Hagrid in Harry Potter, but oilier and dirtier.

Now, Harry Scary doesn't have any keys but I know he might be able to get me to a phone book and phone so I can find someone who does have keys. I am just about to start my search for him (heck, I don't know his last name and I don't know what floor he lives on), when I run right into him. I explain to him I have locked myself and am hoping he can find a phone book I can use. (Side note: I can't remember the last time I used an actual phone book--I just go on line.) This was not a simple ordeal, but I'll spare the details. Once armed with the white pages, I ask if I can borrow his cell phone....which unfortunately he hands to me. Um, it is grease-coated, dirty and slippery. I didn't even want to touch it, let alone put it to my head and use it. I look at his black finger nails and his mess of a phone....ah, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so I take the phone and dial the one co-worker phone number I can find in the book.

No answer.

You didn't think anyone was going to answer, did you?

I then ask if I can make another call. Harry Scary obliges, even tho he has a "Trac" phone and pays per minute. Greasy and scary or not, he is chivalrous. I call the wife, hoping she can bring me car keys and that she can find my list of employees on the kitchen table. You can imagine how excited she is about this. As she is not at home, she offers to help once she returns home and gets the car keys. I remind her I don't have a cell phone so calling or texting me will be of no use.

Harry and I go outside so he can smoke and so I can stand there and stare at the open windows, because that's really going to help me--not. I'm babbling about how I can't leave them open overnight and that I will have to find someone with keys and how stupid I feel and how this is what I get for coming to work on a Saturday, and.....

........Harry takes a big drag on his cigarette, points at one of the open windows and says, "I bet you could fit through there."

I politely tell Harry he's crazy and that there is no way I am going to fit through one of those little windows, especially with the crank thingies in the way. He bend over (full moon!) and ponders the options we have. Harry announces that if he can get those hinges un-attached and if I can push in the screen, I will be able to get into my office through the window.

Despite how crazy this seems to me, I agree to at least try and help Harry Scary unhinge the hinge-crank things. He uses those black, scary fingers and pushes on the various points, muttering (but not swearing--I'm the one who is swearing) about how to get the metal bars out of the way. Incredibly to me, Harry Scary is indeed able to unhinge the thing and the window is now free to open parallel to the ground.

I then go forth and break the screen. I had intended to just push it out but the frame cracked and the whole thing crumbled. I was all good with that. Hell, I can replace the screen.

Before I go further, let me clarify: the picture to the left doesn't exactly illustrate what the window looked like when the hinge crank things were loosened--even without the metal hinge crank things, there is space over the window and under the window--the actual window pane ends up being in the middle. This means I have to pick over or under and I know I am not going to fit. There is literally no way. I'm not sure even Freckles could fit through that opening. Also, the window is at ground level--meaning, that not only would I have to squeeze myself like a sausage through a tiny opening, I'd have to do it from the cement.

Harry insists I can make it. He decides I should go under the window pane, not over, as he believes this will be easier. He repeatedly assures me it will work and I will fit. In sheer desperation and because I truly have nothing to lose and because I want to prove him wrong, I bend over to see what kind of clearance I will (or won't) have.

No. Way. No. Way. NO. WAY!

I look at Harry Scary and he points at the window. "Just stick your head in here." For some unknown reason, I do this.

Harry adds, "if you can get your head and your shoulders in the window, you can make it." This sounds strangely like something the obstetrician says as a baby is trying to exit the birth canal--"just get those shoulders out and it's smooth sailing from there." I shake my head, bend over and envision myself getting stuck. I yell out, "Harry! WHAT IF I GET STUCK!" We are on a very busy street--what if someone calls the cops because it looks like I am trying to break in? (Well, I AM trying to break in.) I assure him my ass will not make clearance even if my head and shoulders make it in.

I bend over, contort myself and stick my head through the window. I twist in an effort to get one shoulder through the opening and hear Harry Scary repeating himself, "just get those shoulders through and you're in."

I get one shoulder in, I get the other shoulder......almost in...almost in....my butt is stuck, my stomach is smashing against the window frame, I can't breathe and I can't go forward and I can't go backward, and I'm flailing, yelling at Harry Scary that I am stuck and that......

Harry picks up my feet and SHOVES me through the window. Literally. Just picks up those legs and SHOVES me in to my office. Picture a sausage being STUFFED to the brim. That's me--call me the sausage. Forget my stomach bruising, forget my juicy booty, forget my no-longer-skin-covered knees (which, by the way, no no longer feel like they are attached to my legs)--he shoves me in with brute force.

I land ungracefully on my office floor, face first.

Harry, who is now outside, calls out, "You still in there?"

WHERE THE HELL DOES HE THINK I AM? He just shoved me through the window! It's not a portal into another dimension!

I feel all my parts to ensure nothing is really damaged. I am thankful my pants are still on. I call out to him, "I'm right here!" He's going on and on about something but I can't hear him. For pete's sake, I was just birthed through a window canal!

Although covered with window grease, dirt and god knows what else, I am no longer locked out.

Suffice it to say, I grabbed my keys, called the wife, told her to stay home, put a screen from another window into my now-missing-a-screen window, thanked Harry profusely and put my keys on my belt loop.

Wait a minute, belt loop?

Sure enough, the work out pants that I was wearing did indeed have belt loops. All this time, I could have been wearing those stupid keys like I always do.....the Universe is a cruel, cruel place.

(No, I didn't finish cleaning; no, I didn't put anything out for tenants to take for free; no, I didn't go anywhere without wearing the keys.)

I'm at home now, knees aching (how will I explain this injury to my beloved lady chiropractor?), my stomach bruised, my pride slightly damaged. But, at least Harry Scary didn't have to call the fire department to get me un-wedged from the window....and, the wife had one piece of that Lemon Cake left, so I am good to go.

.....I think I'll get an extra set of keys made and give them to the wife......
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