Yup, that’s me… batting a thousand… for getting locked out of a new place while going out for a smoke.
Back when I moved into Reston Pad #1, on/around Night Three, I locked myself out on the porch and really had to MacGyver my way back in. I slowly fed a simple outdoor thermometer bracket under the sliding glass door to lift and move the broom handle that’d fallen into the track, thus trapping me in the cold without cigarettes or a jacket.
On Day Two at Reston Pad #2—after joking about getting locked out the night before—I locked myself out on the porch again. That apartment had a wonky doorknob that would sometimes lock itself as you twisted it to open and exit. Luckily, I knew the front door was unlocked. Wearing only a pair of plaid shorts, I climbed over the guardrail (2nd floor apt.), dropped down onto the grass, then just up the stairs and in.
Fucking LAST NIGHT, Night Three at the townhouse, Erin and I simultaneously got locked out on the deck around midnight. It was cold and drizzly, but at least she had a jacket. All the doors were locked, and it was way too far to drop down onto bricks or concrete. As an aside, there was some attempted neighborly goodwill involving a cellphone, a not-in-much-of-a-goddamned-hurry locksmith and whatnot.
MacGyver again. Previous owners left a planter outside that looked like a barrel: y’know, wooden slats bound w/ metal straps at top and bottom. Here’s how you do it: Bust some slats, slip off a metal strap, turn it inside out and use the overlap to jimmy the window lock just so. Climb in with no broken glass, and let your girlfriend in. Then wait up for another 40 minutes for the asshole locksmith to show up so you can pay him $69 just for showing up and doing nothing.
Anyway… so now that it’s happened, as with every previous time, necessary steps and precautions will be taken to accommodate my idiocy.
P.S. Computer still not up at the new place… recent developments will most certainly delay actually getting anything done there…