I was coming back from a weekend out of town. In the first two trips from the car to the apartment, things went as smoothly as they can when you are carrying three cats and an excessive amount of luggage up three flights of stairs (okay, so I probably opted for the sketchy elevator on the trip with the cats). The third trip was a little more eventful. On my way out of the apartment door, I patted my pocket to make sure I had my keys. Check. Then I headed down to the car to get the last bag or two out of the trunk. As I reached the outer door of the building, I pulled out my keys and experienced firsthand the feeling so often described in books and movies of a sinking stomach. The keys that came out in my hand were my car keys and only my car keys; the apartment keys were nowhere to be found. Of course, once I was faced with the undeniable fact that they were not in my pocket, I knew exactly where they must be: sitting on the table inside my apartment. Right next to my cell phone. Great.
Several panicked minutes later I ran into a girl I knew by sight though not by name who was outside walking her dogs. As it turned out, she lived just down the hall from me, and had a little bit of experience locking herself out of apartments. You see, in our building, if you lock yourself out of your apartment, you have to pay a $50 fee for someone to come let you in (which I gather is pretty standard). You also typically have to wait upwards of two hours for them to arrive. The present time was inconveniently about 10pm. Fortunately my fellow renter was able to offer me some advice on getting into the locked apartment: the doors in the building, you see, are all a little warped, a little loose, and a little bit less than 100% secure. I couldn't jimmy it open with the screw driver that happened to be in my car, but what could be done, I learned, was to pop the latch out of the strike plate by applying the correct amount of force. In other words, ram a large object (i.e. a person) into the door and with any luck it would "swing" open. And with the help of a large Swedish guest staying with my newly made acquaintance, that's exactly what it did.
The door burst open scattering the curious cats who had come to see what all the fuss outside was about, and the Swede rubbed his shoulder and remarked that it was his first experience breaking and entering. No visible damage to the door (I swear it closes and locks no differently than before) and no $50 fee later, I finally got unpacked and fed my poor hungry kitties a very late dinner. Even with the knowledge that it is indeed possible to reenter the apartment after leaving it without your keys, I am happy to report that since this eventful evening, I have never walked out the door without my keys in hand.
(N.B. I know that locking myself out of my apartment isn't really a reflection on the crummy state of the apartment complex, but the way everything worked out just makes it one more crazy story to add to the building's ample resume.)
