So, I thought I'd briefly recount my experience. You know, this is a memory blog.
So this was back when I was living on Huson street, in the non-house. (I prefer to think of it as a house converted to apartments because it looks like a house, and it looks [and is built] like a conversion, even though the landlord tells me it's not. Whatever.)
Sure as hell looks like a house, doesn't it?
Anyway, I lived on the top floor and I was heading out to work one morning. I always had my keys hanging up next to the front door so I could grab them on my way out. I headed to the car, and realized I didn't have my keys.
[Cue the 'Oh shit' moment]
So, I panic. Justin is at work, and I know I locked myself out of the apartment. Calling a locksmith would not only cost money, but make me late for work, and I was not about to be late for work for NOTHING. I was working as a temp at Hospice House and hadn't been there for very long, yet. Temps are easily replaced, and I sure as hell wasn't going to get replaced.
So, what do I do? I decide to break in.
Not having barely 4 feet between my door and the neighbor's (which I think might have been an empty apartment at this point) I start slamming my shoulder into the door. Now, I wouldn't be doing this if I at all cared. The apartment itself is shitty as f*ck. I wake the neighbors downstairs and tell them it's okay - I locked myself out. Annoyed, they basically shrugged me off and went back inside. Now, I don't know what this says about the door, but it only took me about 7 slams before I managed to splinter the wood on the other side and pop the door open.
I grab my keys and head to work. I was not late, of course, because I'm a super early person. And that gives me yet another tally for a reason why being super early to everything is beneficial. lol
Oh, on an unrelated subject, I told mom how awesome my Dyson was and how I bet it would vacuum up what her $1,500 Kirby missed. She said no way.