So, yesterday, we had the Steelers game on, and we were fixin to have dinner - which was a yummy salad with some leftover chicken from Boston Market! When I microwaved the chicken, of course Stinksy started smelling it. So, rather than bear him trying to get at our food and sticking his tail in our food like he usually does, I just put him in the bedroom before we even started eating. So, we had our nice meal. I went to have a little extra, but I felt bad for Stinksy, so I went to open the bedroom door. But I couldn't. I twisted and twisted. It was locked. I could hear Stinky's soft meow.
So, I was baffled. We never lock that door. We barely ever close it. So, began our quest to rescue poor Stinky. First, the credit card. But the lock was the opposite way to even try that one. We tried to pick the lock with paper clips. But I don't know how to do that. The paper clips weren't hitting anything. The tool box was in the bedroom, of course. So, we rooted around for stuff. All different kinds of knives. We tried the lock with every tool. Nothing. So, then we started to take the hinges off. With a little help, the top one came out. On to the bottom. We needed a hammer. It was in the bedroom. So, we grabbed a 5 lb weight. It was kinda big, and there wasn't much room to really pound anything under the hinge, but we tried. And tried. We tried hammering knives into the top of the hinge to loosen it. But the hinge was painted over, so it was pretty stuck.
Meanwhile, all kinds of stuff was happening on TV. Rothlisberger seemed to have gotten his ankle hurt, and he was out of the game. The FP's phone was ringing off the hook.
So, the FP was hammering a knife into the hinge, when the tip broke off and flew into his face below his eye. That was it. He was out.
But you know me. It's like a puzzle to me. A compulsion to find a solution to an idiotic problem. We tried for maybe an hour. The FP pointed out how we couldn't keep hammering at 10 o'clock at night - which it was still 20 till at that point. So, I messed around for about 10 more minutes, and I gave up.
The FP was contemplating just sleeping it off and calling the landlord in the morning. So, we did have a half bathroom. We didn't have our contact cases, and we only had one pillow. And one cat. There was no way. Even if we got comfortable enough to bunk down on the yucky couch, Stinky would be meowing all night for us to let him out.
I called a locksmith. The guy was really fast. He was here in about 15 minutes. He was wearing a yamaka and these cool blue adidas. So, he took out his cat burglar tools and started picking around. He stopped, and he told us, if I can pick the lock, it's X amount, if I can't pick it and I have to drill, it's XX amount. Okay. It was a lot. We already brought the guy out. We would at least have to pay a fee for coming out. It's always pretty expensive - in my experience. So, he began to pick. Pick pick. Different sizes, pick pick. He worked on it for a while. 5 or 10 minutes. No go. It probably didn't work because of our digging around. So, he was going to have to drill. He took out the long drill bit, put it in his cordless drill. He jammed it through the lock and pulled the handle off. Then he took a big screwdriver and turned it, and popped it open.
Easy. For a thief. I couldn't help but think, if we had our cordless drill that the FP's dad gave us and then "borrowed" we could have done the same thing. But, alas we didn't have the drill. Although if we did, it would have been in the bedroom, anyway. So, the locksmith asked if we wanted him to replace the lock. We declined. He asked if we were sure. No, no, we really didn't want to spend any more money. Plus, we didn't want another lock that could accidentally lock, again.
So, we just put the old lock handle back on the door, and it doesn't lock anymore. Which is good. But still, the question is, how did the door lock? So the door opens out into the living room. And it's always open. So, either one of us bumped it and somehow accidentally turned the lock, Stinky jumped up and managed to lock himself in, or a ghost did it. Tonight, the fuse that controls the porch light burnt out. We will have to call the landlord tomorrow to replace it. Dare I ask about the ghost?
BTW, Big Ben went back into the game during halftime - literally hobbling around on the field. The Steelers ended up winning, but his ankle may be fucked up. Things didn't turn out in the best way last night, but at least the outcomes were desirable, I guess.
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