When Monday mornings attack!
I just spent half an hour trying to get into my own apartment, yo.
Y'see, after I strolled home from my first class, there was a sign on the lobby elevators that said "Elevators out of order. Please use East or West stairwells."
Now, it's a known fact around here that you can use the stairwells to get out of the building, but the doors at the bottom are one way and you cannot use the stairwells to get in. Nonetheless, the cantankerous 80-year-old man who I am more and more convinced resides in the depths of my soul convinced me that I should at least try to solve this conundrum on my own.
Envision, if you will, your valiant author, pre-coffee and book-laden, walking around and around the building trying each and every door with increasing desperation. Some of the aforementioned doors do not even have handles.
After *mumble-mumble* minutes of that madness, I went over to the leasing office and explained my conundrum. "Oh no!" they exclaimed jovially, "We know you can't get in through the stairwells! Maintenance should have been over there to show you the way." And so they summoned Maintainance Guy to show me the way.
Here's where it gets surreal. Maintenance Guy patiently explains that I cannot use my key to get in through the outside doors. Then walks me over to said doors and encourages me to try the locks, thus demonstrating how I cannot get in. In patient tones that I should get a freakin' award for, I asked how I was to get up to my apartment.
"You can't, not with that key. I'll let you in for now. You're not in a rush, are you?"
Jesus H Christ.
So the maintenance fellow let me in using his key and I am now scared to leave the apartment for fear of having to go through that again. Seriously, I just kept waiting for Ashton Kutcher or Kafka to leap out and tell me I was on camera.
*clutches coffee*
Y'see, after I strolled home from my first class, there was a sign on the lobby elevators that said "Elevators out of order. Please use East or West stairwells."
Now, it's a known fact around here that you can use the stairwells to get out of the building, but the doors at the bottom are one way and you cannot use the stairwells to get in. Nonetheless, the cantankerous 80-year-old man who I am more and more convinced resides in the depths of my soul convinced me that I should at least try to solve this conundrum on my own.
Envision, if you will, your valiant author, pre-coffee and book-laden, walking around and around the building trying each and every door with increasing desperation. Some of the aforementioned doors do not even have handles.
After *mumble-mumble* minutes of that madness, I went over to the leasing office and explained my conundrum. "Oh no!" they exclaimed jovially, "We know you can't get in through the stairwells! Maintenance should have been over there to show you the way." And so they summoned Maintainance Guy to show me the way.
Here's where it gets surreal. Maintenance Guy patiently explains that I cannot use my key to get in through the outside doors. Then walks me over to said doors and encourages me to try the locks, thus demonstrating how I cannot get in. In patient tones that I should get a freakin' award for, I asked how I was to get up to my apartment.
"You can't, not with that key. I'll let you in for now. You're not in a rush, are you?"
Jesus H Christ.
So the maintenance fellow let me in using his key and I am now scared to leave the apartment for fear of having to go through that again. Seriously, I just kept waiting for Ashton Kutcher or Kafka to leap out and tell me I was on camera.
*clutches coffee*