My B&E
Well, I know what profession I'm not going into.
I left to go get some food tonight at around seven and, once again, brilliant person that I am, left my keys in my coat pocket, the one that was too warm to wear out, and my cell phone in my purse, which was dead. And so I made it out to the second set of doors before realizing that I had absolutely no way of getting back in. So as per usual when I live alone and lock myself out, I started buzzing my neighbours until someone let me into the building, and then I went and asked to use their phone to call the landlords to let me back into my apartment. Except both of the ones I can usually count on to let me in did not pick up their phones. Of course. It seems like every time I lock myself all the way out of my apartment I am living alone for the summer and the landlords aren't home.
But the girl whose phone I was using offered to take out a chair and see if that was high enough for me to get onto my balcony, which, most fortunately for me, was not secured as it usually was. I'd closed the inner door, which doesn't lock, to keep out the cool early morning drafts, and left the outer one, which does lock, open. So we brought out one of her kitchen chairs and I climbed up onto it. Too big for a step up to the deck, but just close enough for a good kneehold, and once I was onto that it was basically just a matter of lifting myself over the railing.
I landed on the little plastic table that we inherited with our old apartment, and it completely gave under my weight and sent shrapnel flying everywhere. Didn't get the girl who was helping me, though, and I'd managed to catch myself before putting my full weight on the abused little piece of furniture, but it still shattered real good. So that was good, if not particularly graceful. I thanked her for lending me her chair and waved as she went back inside, before realizing that the piece of wood that we use for a little extra security when it's hot but the window needs to be open was still jammed firmly into place on the inner door. I'm still not quite sure how I managed to squeeze through. Damn boobs. Damn ass. Just - damn body. I was trying to reach for the lamp, which is sitting in the corner by the door, to tip it over and jar the wood out, and I guess I kind of twisted through. And I was in! Foodless and bruised and more than a little embarrassed, but in.
So this time when I go out I'm making sure to bring my keys. My cell phone is busy charging and it will go in my pocket as soon as it is done drinking electricity again. So my conclusion with this little escapade is that I am probably not cut out to be a cat burglar; when it comes to climbing and sneaking through half-open doors, I'm about as stealthy as a hyperactive monkey. Also that I'm going to move my lamp away from that corner and make sure to lock up properly every night now that I know that even I can break into my own apartment with relative ease. And probably not mention to my parents how easy it is to get in, they'd probably freak out.
On a completely different note, somewhere during the course of this week, I have concluded that my cell is probably named Bernard. I don't know why. I'm not going to try to find out, either. The conclusion just seems to be on par with the rest of my week.