Thursday evening I returned home from work much relieved to spend some needed time on my oh so comfortable sofa. It was just after five and as I sunk into my couch I clicked on the TV to search for some brainless reality television. I'll admit it, I like that crap. I surfed my usual channels and was met by one of those awful TV moments when all of your very favorite channels are on commercial break simultaneously. It is a most dreaded cable television anomaly.
Seeing as I had a couple minutes to kill I decided to use my time productively and run to my mailbox. Now it is important for you to understand that I am generally very lazy in checking my mail. Mostly this is because there is either nothing or bills. Clearly not things I am interested in. As such, I was incredibly proud of myself for grabbing my phone and running down to the bank of mailboxes outside my building. Wait a minute? Why did I grab my phone? Well naturally I was in the middle of a very important text conversation. And by important I mean it was with a hot guy. So hot guy on phone and I ran down to check the mail. Of course there was nothing in it. Depressing.
What was far more depressing than my mail free life, was the realization as I was hiking back up the stairs that I had failed to grab my keys or unlock the door. Sweet. I'll blame my forgetfulness on the stirring conversation with hot guy. So there I am in front of my door realizing I have no way to get in. Initially I am only a little frustrated. I have planned for this very moment and I figure I can work it out while only missing a marginal amount of TV vegging. Seeing as I live alone, way back when I moved in I thought it would be prudent to leave a few sets of spare keys with friends for moments just like this. Smart right? Yeah, I thought so to.
So I call friend one. No answer. Whatever, he's at work. I know he'll call me back. Next, I put in a call to friend two who just so happens to be Ariel. Unfortunately as the phone rings I know this option probably won't work seeing as Ariel is in Canada pretending to be all Canadian with her Pops. I still try. Then I put in a call to her boyfriend to see if she perhaps left my key. She didn't. I sit and wait for friend one to call back.
Then the phone rings and I see friend one's handsome little face pop up on the caller ID. The conversation basically went like this.
Friend: "So can I buy you a drink or something sometime?"
I note almost immediately that this is not the type of response I'd initially want for the voicemail I left.
Sauce: "Um sure. I love drinks, but could we maybe start with you letting me back into my house?"
Friend: "Yeah, um about that..."
Friend one then went on to say how just last week he lost all his keys - mine included. Incredibly convenient timing. In over eight months of living in my little studio apartment I have never needed him to come let me in. Then this shit happens. I am obviously a lucky person.
My next logical step is to call my property management company. Luckily, I have a fancy Internet type phone that I bought to make me look cool. I look up the number cringing only a little as I notice my battery is on yellow. If you guessed that this will come back to haunt me later in the evening, you'd be right. I know it's afterhours but I still give it a shot and sigh in relief as the answering service for the office picks up.
Answering Bitch: "Professional Property Management."
Sauce: "Yeah, I got locked out of my apartment and was wondering if there was any way I could be let in?"
Answering Bitch: "We can't do that for you afterhours. You'll have to wait and go into the office in the morning. Or call a locksmith or something. You'll just have to figure it out."
Wait, what? I pay nearly $600 for a glorified hotel room and you want me to just "figure it out?" Sure thing, bitch. So I call the locksmith and I nearly die when I am quoted $300. Thanks, but no thanks. Not to mention that I'd have no way to prove I lived there anyway. My options were dwindling quickly. And then my phone died.
Three hours later I was getting more and more antsy. I hadn't seen one person. I mean I've only seen like three people TOTAL since I've moved in. I was disappointed but hardly surprised. It was about this time that I began looking for ways to scale the building and pull off my window screens. That hardly seemed like a viable option, but I seriously considered it long enough to swing my leg over the railing and attempt to stand on a quarter inch piece of trim. I decided I like living and reconsidered.
So I just sucked it up and hunkered down there on my porch. Sure I could have attempted walking to a friend's house, but none of them live within anything you'd consider walking distance. Staying on the porch seemed the uncomfortable, but best option. And it was. Until the rain began. And didn't stop. So I got up and I started walking until a couple hours later I reached a friend's house soaking wet and freezing my ass off.
The next morning (and by morning I mean two hours later) we made our way to my property manager. My friend dropped me off on her way to work right on the dot at 8:30 just like Answering Bitch told us to. Of course the office didn't open until 9:00. So there I was looking like a drowned rat, still wet from the evening before and they wouldn't let me in. They saw me, looked right at me, probably laughed and didn't open the effing door. So I sat and waited and become increasingly irate.
Finally they let me in and I explain the situation. And you know the first thing they said as they handed me my key? "Why didn't you call the answering service? They can send someone to let you in."
No. Effing. Way.
And that my friends is why I graciously and most happily bowed out on serving Ass Dad.