So. After trying to pick the lock with a ballpoint pen and its cap (I was proud of my Macgyver-like innovation), and pounding my head on the door for a few minutes, I heard one neighbor’s door open and close, and his feet tramping down the stairs to street level. I slowly and insecurely tiptoed down the hall to maybe put an effort to stopping him. Maybe he could let me use his phone? Maybe his key would work in place of mine? Who knows what I didn’t really want to put forth the effort to ask him. He stepped out the door before I reached the corner of the hallway, and was out of sight. Exactly what I was expecting and hoping for. Thought I should “try”, though.
So. I went back to my door, pounded my head on it a few more times. Groaned and sent up a prayer that God would open it for me, and then sat on the doormat to think up another plan.
So. I headed down the stairs to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk in the way of some European tourists, felt ashamed of my bare feet, and ducked into the coffee shop next door. There was no one in the shop but the lady behind the counter, who was talking on her cell phone. I wasn’t sure if I was breaking a health code violation (I’ve taken great care with this notion since beginning at Starbucks), but I self-consciously padded toward her, nonetheless. She looked up at me, mouthed, “Just a sec,” and ended her conversation. I explained the situation to her, apologized for my appearance and awkwardness, and asked to use her phone. I called Kevin, who did not pick up the first two times. Third time’s a charm, but he didn’t believe me and the adventure I’d gotten myself into. Then, he got really worried, and said he’d call our landlord. I waited patiently for a few minutes, chatting (or listening to the conversation of, smiling and nodding, trying to involve myself to risk further awkwardness) with a few people who had come in since I was on the phone about the fireworks display last night. It was spectacular! The guy laughed about how much ice they had to buy for their “fender blender” margaritas, and the girl said she was so upset she only saw the last few fireworks because they were in line for ice cream. Kevin finally called back to say that he talked to our landlord, who wasn’t at home, but his wife was. She didn’t pick up, though, he said, so I’ll have to walk to their house. Fortunately, our landlords live just four blocks away. At least, that’s what we had assumed… every time we walk past “their house”, Kevin says, “Yeah, I think that’s their house….”
So. I thanked the lady for the use of her phone, and stepped out of the shop, heading toward what we thought was their house. As I walked, I thought that maybe the people driving by would be impressed by how “organic” I was being by walking barefoot. Maybe that’s what they’re thinking. A dog barked at me, and I jumped. After a few minutes’ walk, I was at The House. I rang the doorbell and a little boy came, followed closely by our landlord’s wife. THANK GOD. I figured I had had enough adventure for one day, without having to go find where they actually live. She motioned me into the house, still on the phone with someone. I told her the story, she was profusely gracious: offering me shoes, a drink, some stools for our counter that she had back in her garage… and the all-important key to our apartment. After some small talk (at which I am daily improving!), she made me wear her flip flops back to my apartment, saying that I could just return them with the key within the next few days.
So. I headed back to the apartment, standing a little taller, walking a little faster (pokey gravel really does damage to uncallused feet), and pleased with my coolheaded dealing with a little inconvenience. An adventure, to say the least.
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