Locked Out

On my daily commute to work each morning, I often have these random thoughts go through my mind. This morning, I was reminded of the time I locked myself out of the house. This happened about a month or two after we moved in. M had already left for work, and I was getting ready to leave myself, but it was garbage day, so I decided to do a little cleaning in the backyard. Fall was starting to settle in, and some branches had fallen onto our lawn. I cleaned up all those dead branches and took the garbage can out to the front. It was only then that I realized I had locked myself out. In my haste, I had slammed the door to our garage shut without remembering that it locked from the inside.

So there I was... stranded outside our house. Coming from New York and raised with a sense of paranoia, there was no chance any of our windows or other doors would be unlocked. I had no choice but to go next door and introduce myself (embarrassingly) to our neighbor. Fortunately for me, they are retired senior citizens and usually home most of the day. The wife was there and welcomed me in with open arms. I explained my situation to her, and asked if there was anything sharp she can lend me to try to pick the lock. Soon after, her husband returned home, so he went out to the back of the house with me and watched as I jabbed the sharp object into the keyhole. After a couple of minutes of unsuccessful picking, we went back inside their house, and they gave me the phone book to call a locksmith. The first guy I called, he said that he would only come if I had proper ID to show I was a resident of the home. I told him I locked myself out of the house; any ID I had would be inside the house. In addition to that, I had just moved in recently, and hadn't even had time to go to the DMV yet to change my license. I told him my neighbor can vouch for my identity, but he refused to budge. I was speechless; I couldn't believe the locksmith wouldn't come. My neighbors suggested that I call the police, so I did. The cops told me there was nothing they could do, and for me to call the locksmith. I told them I did, but they refused to come b/c I wouldn't be able to provide them with proper ID. The police gave me the name and number of another locksmith to call, so I proceeded to give them a try. Luckily, this one was not as stringent as the first locksmith, and didn't have any problems making the trip out. I waited at the front porch of my neighbor's house while he kept me company, all the while sharing his war days with me, and giving me a brief history of our neighborhood. The locksmith eventually came, and it took him about 15 minutes to pick my lock. I was $75 poorer at the end, but a small price to pay for my stupidity. Ironically, the name of the locksmith is called "BK Locksmith." Right before he left, the locksmith told me it stood for "Burglar King." Needless to say, we had our alarm system installed soon after that.