Dude, Where’s My Keys? Click Here To Comment!

[Originally written in response to a "question of the day" at Vox, cross-posted.]

Once upon a time, in that three year limbo between "the divorce" and
"the condo", I lived for two years in the basement of a square brick
bungalow in a working class part of East York, north of Mortimer, west
of Woodbine. I had two rooms in this basement of a bungalow: a bedroom
and a kitchen/computer area/working-eating table. The ceilings were so
low I bumped my head a lot. Oh, I had a bathroom too. A total of about
400 sq. ft.  I had a private entrance (the back door to the house) as
well as a shared entrance which was the side door to the house.

I
did have access to shared laundry facilities which was a blessing. If
you came in the side door to the house and down the basement stairs and
took a sharp left, you found yourself in the laundry area. A locked
door separated my living area from this laundry area. The locked door
had a window pane in it that was obscured by some blinds most of the
time. The window pane and the various entrances play key roles in the
tale I am about to tell.

One day, I decided I needed to put a
load of laundry in before heading out for the day. It was summer time
and my landlord, a lovely young woman who had just bought the house a
few months before renting me the basement, was away at her parent's
cottage up north. It was early morning and I slipped into the laundry
area wearing very little. Perhaps the t-shirt I slept in. I don't
recall … it was something but it wasn't much. I busily loaded my wash
into the washer, added soap and turned it on. The moment I heard the
water pouring over my clothes was the same moment that I turned around
to face … the locked door. Yes, this was the ONE time that I forgot
to unlock the door or prop it open before dealing with the wash. I
stood there, nearly naked, and completely trapped. Wanting to laugh but
not quite being able to.

It was about 7:30 a.m. and my
testosterone-rich neighbour was rumbling around the driveway that was
right outside the door, starting his car, fetching his coffee, yelling
at his dog, and just generally being very present right outside the
side door. I could see his feet, in shadow, through the window over the
washing machine. Going out there would do nothing for me at all as my
back door (main door) was locked anyway.

I put my keen,
non-caffinated (obviously) brain to work on this problem and quickly
ascertained that the only solution was to break the window pane in the
door. I had some towels in the dryer and there were some tools in the
storage cupboard by the laundry machines. I wrapped my arm in a towel,
grabbed a hammer and, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, smashed
the window pane.

Now, I had a new set of problems. Bare feet,
broken glass and severe damage to my landlord's property. I put the
towel down over the glass and gingerly got to the door, reached through
and unlocked it. Another towel went down over the broken glass on the
other side, which was much more plentiful. Thankfully, I did not cut my
feet or, in fact, hurt myself in any way.

After getting that
mess cleaned up, I stared at the now empty window space and, eventually
the hinges to the door. Happily, the hinges popped off easily and -
even better – the door fit in the back of my mini SUV … sort of.
Well, it fit well enough. After making some calls, I found a glazier
who could replace the window in the door fairly cheaply.

24
hours later, one would never imagine anything bad took place. The door
was back in place, window intact, glass cleaned up. I did tell my
landlord about this when she returned and I also showed her where I hid
a key in the storage area where the tools were. Because I NEVER wanted
to go through that again. She was pretty cool about it all, and was
mostly worried about whether or not I hurt myself with all the broken
glass around.

There could be several morals to this story …

• drink coffee before putting laundry in
• do not enter shared space in a nearly naked state, even if the other party is gone for weeks
• PAY ATTENTION, even at 7:30 a.m.
• strategically placed spare keys rock

I'm open to hearing other interpretations, if anyone has any forthcoming.