A couple of weeks ago, after the floors were done and most of the painting was complete, I thought it was time to put the doors back on the bedrooms. We have three bedrooms and thus, three doors. As I was putting each door back on, I closed the door to make sure it, well, closed. So here I was, Patti doing stuff, Emily playing in her room, three doors back on, me standing in the hallway, when I grabbed the door handle for the master bedroom. As I tried to twist the knob and get into the room, which, by the way, had the TV on, all the lights on, and our stuff in it, I realized the door was locked. From the inside. With all three humans on the outside.
If we even knew the door had a key lock, and knew where the key was, then the story would end right here. But we didn?t know if it had a key. So I sat there, banging my head against the door, trying to think about where the key might be. When we moved into the house, the people left 37 years of crap in the house for us to sort, prioritize, examine and throw out. So to say we found a few keys is an understatement. As Patti called the old home owner in her nursing home at 8PM on a Sunday night, I ran around the house collecting keys. After none of them worked, I decided to drive back to our apartment, 30 minutes away, to get some additional keys we found and for some stupid reason brought back to the apartment. As I was in transit, the old home owner called and said the key was in the top drawer of a dresser we bought from her, which was IN the room.
None of the keys from the apartment worked of course. We had no ladder to get into the room from the outside. So here we were with a big choice to make. We could leave the lights and TV on, sleep on the floor, and call a locksmith first thing in the morning. Probably 50 bucks for him to open the door. Or I could commando-kick the door in like Chuch Norris. This would have resulted in a much damaged door frame, cost to replace: unknown.
Stay tuned for what happened.