Saturday, July 21, 2007

An exercise in Blondeness...

We've all done it. Had those moments when we thought those Blonde jokes were retelling a momentously absent-minded day in our lives. And quickly checked to see if our blonde roots were coming through.

Well yesterday was by far the blondest day of my life so far. We had just moved house. I spent the night alone in a house the size of a small cave (echoes included if one so desired), with no hot water and a very dodgy front door lock. The door has two locks; a "security" lock that must be locked with the key from the outside, yet cannot be locked from the inside. Inserting the key into said lock is an exercise in futility, driving yourself (and the key) round and round and round... in never ending circles. Sigh. The other lock is your bog standard, no frills push button type thingy. Now I say "type thingy" because usually these things disengage when you open the door from the inside. This one didn't. Fancy that. I'm outside, the door is locked and I can't get in. I had a key for the security lock which was useless 'cos that was not the lock that was engaged. A key for the bog standard lock did not exist.

Picture it...

I'm late for work, haven't had a shower because I've developed an aversion to cold water bathing since leaving Nepal, and I'm locked out of the house, oh and it's bloody cold. Well let's just say that had the door and I been friends that relationship would have disintegrated rather rapidly after the language I was throwing at it.
Then came the fun part- I had to tell Wineera-the-Younger that we were locked out (I was the one in possession of the sole set of keys). Not much of a problem really unless you have to actually get into the house to start making it habitable, and get ready for classes. No problem! So we waited for the locksmith in the sun outside, designing (theoretically) the layout of the house and the garden. Laughing at my stupidity and (me) pointing out that if I hadn't done it first it would have been her.
The locksmith arrived, fought with the lock, and finally opened the door. He then took the offending piece of metal away to his magic little shop and bought us back two keys. Hurrah! No more being locked out!

Seems I spoke too soon.

Yes. I locked us out again. This time after I had sworn at the kitchen utensils (which at the moment are impossible to store because there is no storage space in the kitchen), tidied up the bathroom and had generally been impatient with the progress of moving in. I was late for work (what a surprise) and just grabbed the nearest set of keys. Forgetting that the new keys were not attached to the others. So when I arrived home, happy in the knowledge that I would be sleeping on an actual mattress and blissfully unaware of my mistook, can you imagine the language that was spouting from my mouth in a most un-ladylike fashion (not that I've ever proclaimed to be a lady mind you)?
Again I had to inform the Younger-one about our predicament. Impressed is not a word I would use to describe her mood. It was dark, no locksmiths were open, and where the hell were we gonna find a ladder at that time of night? (I had left the bathroom window open- foresight perhaps?)
Then who should come wandering down the road but our knight in shining amour. The poor young fulla. He'd probably just had a date with some hot young chica and then gets accosted in horrendous Spanish by his new neighbour. He told us (me) he didn't think he had a ladder and even attempted to wake up another neighbour in his efforts to help us (me). When the neighbour failed to materialise he went inside to ask his parents (I think) for help. He's got a nice dog too- I'm not a dog person, but this dog was pretty cool. Some time later he emerged from his house with a ladder in tow. My hero!!
Then it was up to my sister to perform some death-defying antics on the wobbly wooden contraption (which was too short to reach the 1st (2nd) floor window) and let us into the house. This is what you get if you are the taller one. After a couple of tries she made it in ok and the nice young man bid us a fond buenas noches and retired to his home.
I let the youngster reprimand me, had a laugh, went for a feed, had a beer and finally relaxed into my bed. Sigh.

Today has been designated cleaning day. And there are now copies of the keys.
Maybe I should just dye my hair blonde and get it over and done with huh?!

1 comment:

Michael said...

Very interesting article.Few days ago I also have been in the same situation. I locked myself out of my apartment. I think a locksmith (or any type of technician job that requires home visits) would be an excellent study in human behavior, sociology, psychology, and the like. You get to see how people live and how they react to adversity. It is important to find an honest and reliable locksmith. Some companies run a criminal background check on all employees to help ensure their people are trustworthy. If you are nervous about hiring a locksmith, ask about the background check policy when you call a company for help.