Something happened a week or so ago while Travis was out of town. My survival skills were tested and I had to MacGyver my way of out my bathroom.
But lets start at the beginning of this ordeal shall we? For a few weeks the door knob on my bathroom door has not been working correctly. It has been sticking and could sometimes be a little hard to open. Travis had planned on replacing the door knob, but the schedule we have been keeping lately could be described kindly as hectic.
You can probably tell from the frequency of my blogging that my life has been really crazy lately. The new job is great and keeping me busy, my social schedule has been jam packed and I’ve been furiously working to finish the freelance project. Tuesday night was no exception and I came home after a busy day at work to spend a few more hours hammering away in .PHP and trying to wrap up the project. At about 9 p.m. I went upstairs to do the normal pre-bedtime bathroom routine and read a few more chapters in the Sookie Stackhouse series.
Unfortunately, my bathroom had other plans for me. I finished the normal routine and then went to exit the bathroom. And that was about the time that I realized I was stuck. As in the knob would not turn. Any which way at all. I struggled with the knob for about fifteen minutes before realizing that I was really stuck.
First thoughts to go through my head, “If I’m stuck in the bathroom for 3 days I’m going to be doing really well on Weight Watchers. “I wonder how long it would take for Travis to call the cops tomorrow.” “If I pound on the wall will the neighbors call the cops.”
Then I did what any girl who grew up in Elko would do. I tried to kick the door down, but that was way too loud (I had already ruled out the part about making a lot of noise and having the cops called because a) being locked in your bathroom is a little embarrassing and b) my house is a mess, also embarrassing).
Then I assessed the tools in my bathroom. Mostly beauty products, which would do me no good. Insert light bulb moment here.
Curling irons. I have a lot of them. The professional kind that are extra sturdy. So I decided the next best thing would be to put a hole in the door near the knob and try opening the door from the other side. I chose my first tool (a small curling iron, approximately 1/4 inch) and began putting pressure against the door until a small hole formed. Then I took the next largest curling iron (approx. 1/2 inch) and shoved that through the newly formed hole. After that the hole was big enough for me to start pulling the door apart (literally, thank you half ass construction of the late 1980s).
After a few more minutes of using my brute strength I managed to get a hole big enough to get my hand through. I’m thinking I’m almost home free. I slide my hand through the door, grab the knob, and nothing happens.
The damn knob is so jammed that it will not open from either side. Son of a…
Next plan of action: keep ripping the door down so I can crawl through. I start with the curling irons again. This takes significantly longer because I have to start in a completely new spot. Luckily, pieces of the door start coming apart in sheets. Finally, I get a big enough hole to climb through. All the while Daisy and the cats watch me as if this is some new game we are playing.
Once I am out of the bathroom I am a hot, sweaty mess. Construction is hard work. At first I am pissed and annoyed. Pissed because I was really tired and annoyed because Travis was supposed to get me a new door knob weeks ago. Then I realize the ridiculousness of this situation.
I text Travis this message: You will be buying me a new bathroom door this weekend.
When he calls me back we laugh so hard that I am crying. This truly does seem absoulutely ridiculous and even as I am retelling this story I can’t believe this happened.
Ok so I’m going to be making an effort to get back in the blogging game. I’ve been too busy lately and am trying to claim my life back as my own.