Earlier this year, as we were getting ready to head out, I was scrambling to change and get out the door. As I was leaving our bedroom, I habitually locked and closed its door while feeling for the presence of the key in my pocket. Unfortunately, for the first time since I had started this routine, I felt nothing in my pants as the door clicked shut behind me. The sound of the latch clicking into place echoed as I realized the keys were not there.
Where were they? Why, behind the now-locked bedroom door, of course.
Yes, I have a spare key. And as fate might have it, I'd recently made the mistake of using it and leaving that spare, guess where? Yep, in the bedroom, now with the other key, both snickering in unison at this moment of epic failure, safely and securely locked inside the room I was now safely and securely locked out of.
I only started locking the door because we'd had an incident or two where *someone* felt privileged to access our room in our absence, without permission, rummaging through personal belongings until finding and taking something they were knowingly not allowed to take. There are personal possessions, including nominal, insignificant things as nail clippers and hairspray all the way up to automotive keys, personal journals, etc.
One of my 48 rules of sanity retention is that we always put something back where we found it. When I realized I was locked out, of course, I felt like a total idiot, and I think Jennifer felt the same: that I'm a total idiot.
My mind began racing through what options may be available to me that didn't require breaking glass or shattering door jams, my shoulder or both. I went through the supply of spare keys I had in the garage without luck. I racked my brain (a phrase I to this day do not fully understand) thinking through where any other spare keys might be. The only keys hidden about the property, though, are for the exterior doors, not our bedroom, intentionally keyed differently.
Linda used to lock the bedroom door, yet as kids will do, they quickly found a workaround by way of a ladder and the ramshackle, flimsy screen on the master bathroom's tiny rectangular window. It was easily removed. The bathroom window itself was easily opened as well, as it was seldom locked from the inside. As was the case at this moment.
Linda used to lock the bedroom door, yet as kids will do, they quickly found a workaround by way of a ladder and the ramshackle, flimsy screen on the master bathroom's tiny rectangular window. It was easily removed. The bathroom window itself was easily opened as well, as it was seldom locked from the inside. As was the case at this moment.
Following their juvenile solution was now a possible adult solution.
While Jen waited for me to resolve this, her eyes locked in an upward stare of irritation, I set up and climbed the ladder, removed the screen, carefully removed and safely set aside the bathroom window, and proceeded to strategize the circque-de-sole level of acrobatic contortions necessary for me to ease myself safely through this 19" diagonal opening.
While Jen waited for me to resolve this, her eyes locked in an upward stare of irritation, I set up and climbed the ladder, removed the screen, carefully removed and safely set aside the bathroom window, and proceeded to strategize the circque-de-sole level of acrobatic contortions necessary for me to ease myself safely through this 19" diagonal opening.
How might I squeeze myself through the space of a… of a medium-sized Amazon box? I did not see this happening. I am not now nor will I ever again be the size Tommy and Lauren were 10 years ago when this was a frequent pathway. But I knew somebody who was.
Noah is the smallest of three kids that live across the street from us, and he just happened to be outside playing basketball with a friend of his. I heard them from my backyard as a light bulb momentarily appeared above my head, dim as it might have been.
Noah was hanging outside with his somewhat portly neighborhood friend. I walked over and asked for his assistance. (Noah's, not the chunky kid). Noah got clearance from his mom, and then he and my portly childhood doppelgänger came to the back window to see if they might be able to assist.
He climbed the ladder, surveyed the scenario, and saw the intimidating five-foot-six-inch space between the window and the tile of the shower below. I believe he experienced that dizzying "zoom-in while pulling back" sense of Vertigo from the Hitchcock film of the same name. He began to tremble slightly, beads of sweat developing upon his brow. With a slightly cracking voice, he indicated he wasn't feeling up to the task.
My first impulse was, obviously, to just push him through the window without further discussion. I realized though that the damage to the shower door could be more costly than his medical bills, let alone his medical bills. Resisting that initial impulse, I expressed gratitude for his willingness to try and my full understanding of his anxiety and trepidation.
They returned home and I returned to the window alone, to further assess my next steps. I was determined, and when I realized that, were I able to start higher up and somehow get both legs through the window, I just might be able to squeeze through. Of course, falling was a significant concern due to some existing spinal cord issues, let alone finding myself stuck midway.
I approached Jennifer and asked for her assistance. With her slightly annoyed concession, a taller and more sturdy ladder, and some game-plan coordination, I ascended. From that higher position, I was able to swing and insert both feet and legs into the space while holding onto the roof for support. I went all Mission Impossible.
My first impulse was, obviously, to just push him through the window without further discussion. I realized though that the damage to the shower door could be more costly than his medical bills, let alone his medical bills. Resisting that initial impulse, I expressed gratitude for his willingness to try and my full understanding of his anxiety and trepidation.
They returned home and I returned to the window alone, to further assess my next steps. I was determined, and when I realized that, were I able to start higher up and somehow get both legs through the window, I just might be able to squeeze through. Of course, falling was a significant concern due to some existing spinal cord issues, let alone finding myself stuck midway.
I approached Jennifer and asked for her assistance. With her slightly annoyed concession, a taller and more sturdy ladder, and some game-plan coordination, I ascended. From that higher position, I was able to swing and insert both feet and legs into the space while holding onto the roof for support. I went all Mission Impossible.
Once my legs were in, I was fully committed. There was no coming back out without the aid of a firetruck and an airlift.
Turning to my side, I shimmy'd into the windowsill until I reached and thankfully cleared my stomach. The recent weight loss had proven to be very valuable at that moment. I made it through to the point at which I was holding onto the top and bottom of the window sill (NOT the side window pane of course) while continuing to lower myself down. By that point, with a minor acrobatic swivel and pivot, I was able to land on my feet to applauding judges, an exasperated sigh from Jen, and a total average score of 8.6.
Turning to my side, I shimmy'd into the windowsill until I reached and thankfully cleared my stomach. The recent weight loss had proven to be very valuable at that moment. I made it through to the point at which I was holding onto the top and bottom of the window sill (NOT the side window pane of course) while continuing to lower myself down. By that point, with a minor acrobatic swivel and pivot, I was able to land on my feet to applauding judges, an exasperated sigh from Jen, and a total average score of 8.6.
Lesson learned. In response, knowing full well that history might certainly repeat itself, I reset the lock to match the outer doors, knowing that in a future instance I'd not be pressed to repeat this qualifying Olympic event.