A few years ago, Hallboy and I were leaving for the morning–me to work, him to school. It was raining, so we dashed out to the car and jumped in the car. My eyes happened to wander to the street, where I noticed one of our cats, Katie, was laying in the street–she’d been hit by a car and was dead. In an effort not to upset Hallboy, I froze, not knowing what to do. All I could think was, “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no…poor Katie.” (She was an indoor/outdoor cat who loved being outside.)
I calmly told Hallboy that we needed to go back into the house. (I wanted to plant him in front of the TV while I went to get Katie’s body.) I took the keys from the ignition and laid them on the passenger’s seat (for some reason), but grabbed my purse and we headed for the house, only to realize that the keys were locked in the car, laying on the front seat. We sat on the front porch while we waited for AAA. When I explained that we’d had a death in the family (at this point Hallboy noticed Katie, and we were both sobbing), they sent someone out IMMEDIATELY to unlock my car.
Until we got a new car, Hallboy and both Hallgirls carried car keys.
This one incident made me levitate more toward “jean/slacks”-style shorts than thick polycot sports-style shorts for everyday use (although their tendency to develop holes in the crotchal area is also a factor.)
I went to a concert – the only time I’ve been to actually see two bands on the list – the Get Up Kids and Dashboard Confessional. At the end of the first set (neither of those two bands, actually,) I realize that in the jumping around my keys have fallen out.
I ask everyone around me but they haven’t seen it. The security people say they will keep an eye out for lost and found but it doesn’t show up.
Oddly enough I have the best moshing experience of my life when I successfully directed the moshing in “10 Minutes to Downtown” (young kids tried to jump around during the slow part but I got us to all save our energy for after the buildup,) perhaps it was the lack of weight in my shorts (shut up,) that let me jump around so easily.
After each set I checked with lost and found but nothing.
Then after everyone was dispersing from the pit after the curtains had closed, someone with his group of friends was standing there holding a set of keys. I came up to him and profusely thanked him, for otherwise I’d be locked out of my car AND apartment (and I’m too forgetful to remember to take two separate sets of keys for both.)
And I decided there to at least get concert-worthy shorts that will keep my keys in my pocket, if not a keychain I can attach to my belt loops on my shorts (but I havent gotten those for fear of them causing injury to others at a concert.)
This happened to my aunt several years ago. She was visiting her son’s family for the Thanksgiving holiday and the Wednesday before she intended to get the turkey out of the freezer in the garage to thaw overnight. Everyone else was at work or school. Wearing only her nightgown (on a chilly November day), she walked into the garage from the kitchen and door locked behind her. No problem she thinks. “I’ll just open the big garage door and walk around to the patio.” However, all other doors were locked as well. The window to her room was open but the sill was too high for a 65 year old short round lady to easily climb through. It should be noted that while all this was going on my cousin’s large Labrador Retriever was dancing about trying to help. Eventually my aunt found a bucket to stand on and as she teetered atop the bucket trying to hoist an ample hip up onto the window sill the dog knocked over the bucket. This sent auntie flying backwards through the open window, landing first on the bed and then bouncing on to the floor. This was, of course accompanied by a great deal of screaming and waiving of arms and legs. Luckily only her pride was hurt.
Oh, did I mention that this house faces a busy highway and that my aunt doesn’t wear underwear?
My stories: 2 times left keys inside, 1 time I had lost them.
Keys Inside 1: Forget how I ended up outside my apartment with the door locked, but I had left something boiling on the stove. Landlord (who lived next door) wasn’t home and I had just moved to New York and had no one yet to leave extra keys with. I ended up having to kick the door in. Landlord was nice enough to fix it without charging me. I was lucky because a few years later he actually changed all the apartment doors from wood to steel(?), with double locks. I could never have kicked the door in if that had been the case.
Keys Inside 2: Blah blah blah and nobody home. (By then, a friend had an extra set of keys, tho’ when I get ahold of him later, didn’t remember having them – lotta of good he’d’ve done me.) I ended up going up to the roof. There was one apartment above me and the apartment below me had one room that extended beyond my back wall. I jumped off of the roof to the subroof of the below apartment. Lots of room there, but I was afraid I might roll off and fall two stories down. I didn’t and one window to my apartment was unlocked.
Lost keys 1: My neighbor in the building next door (same floor) let me come through his apartment and go out the back window. There was an extended room below him just like mine and I just walked over to my apartment and went through the window.
No laundry was involved in any of the incidents though.
OK, this one did happen to me. A long time ago I worked for the County of San Diego. One day my boss and I were out in a County vehicle doing a field check in some remote location. We had stopped to consult a map and I casually tossed the keys up on the dashboard. We watched in horror as the keys slowly slid to the back of the dash and disappeared down a vent! No problem I thought, we’ll just radio headquarters and they can dispatch a spare key or a locksmith. Opps, radio doesn’t work unless the ignition is on. So my boss was forced to virtually dismantle the dashboard in order to get his arm down the vent and retrieve the wandering keys. After he was through, I was very glad it wasn’t my car.
My son and I were returning a movie. Since we were coming straight back home afterwards, I just locked the door knob (instead of also locking the dead bolt), and pulled the door shut.
We hop into the truck, and I discover that I have no keys. Several colorful metaphors were used. We went across the street to call my Mom, who has an extra key.
“Mom, I’m locked out. Where are you?”
“I’m in Napa, but I’ll leave now.”
Napa’s about an hour away from where I live. We left the neighbor’s house, and went into my backyard.
“Hey, the kitchen window’s open! I can boost you through the window!”
My son looked at me like I was insane.
“Are you crazy?!? No way!!”
I was reduced to try to figure out a way to jimmy the back slider door open. It took about 45 minutes, but I managed to do it. I walked through the house, and opened the front door just as my Mom was outside, reaching for the door knob. She almost had a heart attack.
Her day wasn’t over, as she had to drive back to Napa and retrieve her purse, which she’d forgotten to bring with her.
Our security door wasn’t really the sort you should have been able to lock yourself out with, but my sister’s boyfriend, AKA the lump, had fooled with the lock so it’s now a piece of crap. Anyway, now the keys sometimes just spin around in the lock rather than turn the tumblers. And unbeknownst to me, it had developed another fun trait. So I was taking some trash out to the trash can outside. I don’t think I even had any shoes on. I unlocked the door and left the keys in the door. Apparently as I left, I slammed the door just right to cause the lock to relock itself, locking me out. I wandered around looking for something to break out a window before I finally swallowed my pride and went to ask my neighbors if I could use their phone. They’re my dad’s (former) patients, so at least we knew each other. My aunt came and rescued me, and I went and hid in the house.
I guess I should be glad I’ve done it once, since I’ve mocked our oldest sister for locking her keys in her car over and over and OVER again until she finally gave me an extra key to keep safe.
-Lil
I was 12 or 13 and we had just moved into our new house so I didn’t have a key yet. I had to walk to school that morning and no one else was home to lock the deadbolt behind me, so I decided that I’d go out through the garage. I locked the door from the house to the garage and then tried to lift the garage door. It wouldn’t budge and I spent a few minutes afraid that I’d be trapped in the garage until someone came home later that day. Finally I managed to lift the garage door and go to school (I guess I was doing it wrong the first time).
Years ago I had a job that required a fair amount of travel. We were spending the weekend at a cabin in the furthest possible North-east corner of New Hampshire. Home was 3 hours away, cell coverage was 1 hour away.
On the way home, my phone beeped telling me I had voicemail(s). 12 of them, each more frantic than the next. It was my boss telling me I needed to get on a plane ASAP and head to Dallas for Monday morning, 8AM.
As soon as we got home, we packed me a bag, and off I went. As I got into the driveway, the wife realized I forgot something, so she ran down (in her robe at this point) to give it to me… but she had locked herself out.
Off she slinks over to the neighbor’s house for help, as I’d already driven away… in her robe.
The neighbor helped her put a ladder up to the 2nd floor window, and he crawled through the window into the (very messy) bedroom, down the stairs, and let her in.
She was embarrased, we got a good story, and realized how nice that particular neighbor is.
My locked-out story happened when I had just graduated from college and chosen UC Santa Cruz for grad school, and was in Santa Cruz looking for housing. This was difficult, because it was 1998 and the Santa Cruz housing market was really tight and expensive.
I was staying in Graduate Housing. The people who normally had the apartment I was in were away, and had given me a key. My first night there, I sprained my ankle getting off a bus. The next morning, I couldn’t walk, so I had to call one of the other grad students to come to my rescue and take me to the campus health center. That night, when I was trying to get back into the apartment after a day of (unsuccessfully) looking for places to live, my only key snapped in the lock. I was locked out of the apartment where all my stuff was, only able to limp short distances, and 3000 miles from home. :eek:
Fortunately, the housing people did let me in (they told me they shouldn’t have done that, because I didn’t live in that apartment) I had to find another place to stay while I continued my housing search, though, since they wouldn’t give me a replacement key.
I swear, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised by the end of that week if the Big Earthquake had hit the Bay Area then…
I’ve pretty much become an expert at breaking into any car I’ve ever owned and any house I’ve ever lived in. Some memorable ones:
In grade school, when I had to ride the bus, I’d constantly forget my keys. We had a sliding glass back door, which we locked with a stick. I developed a technique, where I’d face away from the door and donkey kick the bottom of the door. Sometimes, if the stick was in the “trough” on the outside edge, I’d have to kick it repeatedly to get it to vibrate loose. I’m surprised I never broke that door!
I once got locked IN my truck! I was turning around, and backed into a ditch. My tires were still on the ground, but so was the belly of my truck. On that model of Dakota, the doors wrap around the bottom a bit, so the door was stuck tight! I thought I was going to have to break the window to have somebody help tow me out, but then I realized I could simply roll the windown down!
We recently moved into a brand-spankin’ new house. The first evening we were there, I proudly swept off my (new shiny!) kitchen floor, and went out on the back porch to dump the dirt off the side. I undid the bolt, but didn’t turn the push button lock. So I was standing on the back porch, in my bare feet, with a dustpan. I didn’t want to walk around the house, because we don’t have a yard yet, and it had been very wet, and I would have sunk into nearly-ice-cold mud up to my ankles. Did I mention it was January? Very stupid. So I banged on the door, because the electrician (who is my cousin) was in the basement. I banged and banged and banged, and was just rolling up my pantlegs to jump into the mud when he came upstairs for some tool. He had heard the banging, see, but thought I was hanging a picture or something. My feet survived because I had used the chicken method (I’m not kidding, they actually do this) of cold-weather survival: standing on one leg and tucking the other one up under you, and then switching when necessary.
Stupider yet was when I lived in Indianapolis, and the Pacers were in the playoffs. I was the only loser in the office that Friday evening, working late to please my psychotic boss. Who was probably watching the Pacers with everybody else, but that’s not your problem. A friend that I worked with had brought some painting equipment to my cube earlier that day for me to borrow, and I decided to carry a load down to the car, since it was going to be two trips. It was about 9:30 in the evening. I stepped out into the hall, juggling extension poles and stepladders, and started down the stairs. At which point I realized that my keys were on my desk, with both my building keypass and car keys on them. I was still trying to figure out what to do – my cell phone was on my desk, too, and there weren’t any pay phones in the building – when one of the cleaning crew came by. I was so happy to see him I nearly fell on his neck. He only spoke Spanish, and I only know how to ask for a beer and the bathroom in Spanish, but I managed to convey that I needed inside. He recognized me from other late nights, so he let me in without an ID. I’ve always wondered what story he told about the crazy lady who brought a ladder to work and stood in the stairwell. I think the Pacers lost that game, too, so it was a bad night all around.
When I was in high school, I regularly forgot to take my house key with me. Fortunately, when being brought home by friends, I had one friend who was especially good at climbing up to my second story bedroom window and letting me in once he got to the downstairs entrance.
After going away to college, I have luckily never managed to lock myself out of my house or car. I’m hoping it stays that way. ::crosses fingers::
WHen I had a small one bedroom appartment in downtown Ottawa, I took my dogs out for a walk with stephi (a fellow doper!) one day and came home to find myself locked out. I called my mom, who had spare keys to my place…
Mom: Oh dear. I do have your spare keys, don’t I.
Me: Yes, you do.
Mom: Yeah… about that…
Me: What?
Mom: You know? Earlier? When I called about that purse I forgot at your place yesterday?
Me: Yeah?
Mom: Yeah. Your spare keys?
Me: Yeah?
Mom: They’re in the purse.
Twice now I can say I locked myself out of the house here. Mostly it was pretty simple, just run around to the back door and pray I hadn’t locked it last time I was inside. It often worked. Not so at my old apartment.
I locked myself out during finals week, but I needed to get my paper from inside to get to the teacher by 2pm. I drove quickly to the house and realized the front door was locked. I had shut it that morning but not all the way, so it was close enough to be stuck shut but enough that I could move it. I got angry and went around to the back. Luckily, the outside door was openable (it was latched but I could lift up the latch from the outside) and then I just had to get inside the heavy door on the other part of the closed in porch. Another reason I was lucky - there was a crowbar laying on the floor right beside the door, having been left there from when we tore up the floor and rebuilt it. I started to pry and the door popped open, and I made it in. Of course, for the next 3 months I lived there, I felt very unsafe…
Had on pj’s and a coat and took my dog out. My nephew was staying here and left for work and locked me out. I had to walk up and down the street looking for a neighbor so I could use the phone.
It was the night of my dogs graduation from puppy school and I was rushing around getting ready. I had the sweater I was going to wear in the dryer and I ran downstairs to the basement to get it. I didn’t want the dog to try to come down and closed the door and accidently closed it all the way and locked myself in the basement.
I was home alone and the dog was going nuts. I was finally able to stack boxes up and climb out of one of the little windows.
Many years ago, I lived in a ground-floor flat that was part of an old house that had been converted into apartments. Next door, right outside my bedroom, was a cheap apartment building that resembled a Motel 6.
One night I accidentally left my door key at a friend’s house, and I arrived home late at night without any way to get into my apartment other than by prying open a window with a crowbar. I was able to break into my place in full view of some of my neighbors, who were having a patio party. I was sneaking around in semi-darkness, and there’s no way that anyone was going to recognize me, so I kind of expected to be challenged or reported, but nope. It was a bit troubling that my next-door neighbors were so accepting of someone breaking into my bedroom window. What was worse was that one of my neighbors shouted out toward my shadowy figure, “Hey, man, that bitch has a cool collection of old '45s. Don’t miss 'em.” Great. My neighbors are gonna assist a burglar in stealing my record collection. And they say that folks don’t go out of their way to help each other any more.
