Mid-Night Adventure

I locked myself out of my own house last night, actually 1:30 a.m., a first for me. I had brought a pair of slacks down to wash and opened the back door to see that all was as it should be in the garage. Everything looked fine, so I turned the lock as I stood there. But there was a smell I couldn’t identify, so I stepped into the garage and let the door close behind me. Great.

The house key in my car did me no good—that’s right, the car was locked, car keys just inside the back door. No cell phone; it was in the house. No spare key hidden in the garage (there is now, you’d better believe). No lights on in any neighbor’s house. I was stuck.

Yes, I could call Lola, but I'd have to wake a neighbor to use a phone. At 2 a.m.? I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to bother anyone. Didn’t want anyone to know what a stupid thing I had done.

Five hours before I could hope for anyone in the neighborhood to be up, and I was already cold. I had to get resourceful. I put the slacks on over my pj bottoms and tried the door again. Still locked. Funny.

Maybe something in the garage could unlock the thing. After trying a tiny screw driver, tiny saw blade, paper clip, nail, and what I will call brute force, and having no success at getting in my house, I began to look for anything I could use to keep warm through the night. Found a pillow that smelled of petroleum, but hey, an old Mexican blanket with the same smell, and a tarp, and planned for a hard night by the back door—between the fridge and the garbage can. I spread the tarp on the mat and then thought there must be a sleeping bag on one of those garage shelves Wayne had built, so I climbed on the old wooden stool that had belonged to Grandpa Schiess, pulled down a black plastic bag, and found my own sleeping bag in it. I lay down—note the correct use of the verb.

As I struggled to find some comfort, I thought of things. 1. Have a key in the garage for such emergencies. Okay, I would take care of that in the morning. 2. Maybe the ladder would be tall enough to reach my upstairs deck and I could climb up and go through my bedroom door. I got up, carried the ladder to the deck (and it's dark and cold outside, you know). Ladder way too short. Back to the garage, and thank goodness I didn't lock that door, too. 3. Try to sleep. 4. What about when I need to use the “facilities” of which I have none in the garage? 5. Try harder to sleep.

I can’t say I was entirely comfortable, but eventually I was tired enough that I did sleep a little.

When I woke I checked the sprinkler control clock, 5:47. I checked the neighborhood, no lights on. At 6:20 I saw Clarks had their lights on. I walked down, knocked on their door, rang their bell. No one came. I turned to go back home and saw the kitchen light in Shuells’s house. I headed there, scaring Pam Shuell only slightly. I used their phone to call Lola. She might still have a key to my house. She made a search but found no key. (6. Make sure my kids have a key.) I told her about my ladder idea and thought maybe Bryan could negotiate the climb up and onto the upper deck. But Mr Shuell heard me, said he had a tall ladder, came over, did the job, let me in, and here I am to write the happy ending.

For a while this whole thing made me feel very old and very stupid. But when my neighbor told me he had locked himself out many times and what he does now because of it—always leaves a certain door unlocked because his kids have lost all the spare and hidden keys—and when I remember everything I tried to do and then look at the little bed I made for myself, I realize I may be old but not too old to think, and I’m not stupid. This was an accident. We all have them.