Doors Are Whores

I arrived home today, as I do on most days, at around 5.45pm. As I got to the front door, I prepared myself for the infuriating tasks of guessing which lock to open first, having to wiggle the key around when it gets stuck and finally using both hands to turn the key. This inevitably pisses me off, and ruins the good mood I'm usually in when I get home.

But unfortunately today the door had decided it hated me even more than usual. Today it decided that the lock was going to jam, and not let me in the house.

Before you jump to conclusions: I'm not a complete idiot, I know how to open a door properly and yes, I had my keys on me but the medieval door would not open. Bastard.

After over 10 minutes of trying to force the door open and trying the keys over and over, I decided that I probably wasn't going to get the door open, and that another plan was needed.

My first thoughts when this happened were:

1. Call Fergus
2. Don't call Mum
3. Smash it with a brick
   

Possibly three of the stupidest ideas I've ever heard for anything - ever.

After that moment of stupidity had passed, I started to sort things out.

I called the people I live with to see when they would be home, or if they had the landlord's phone number - no one answered.

I called my mum - she was very little help.

I called Emilybits again, and she answered. She wasn't coming home and didn't have the landlord's number, but she went to George's work to see if he had the number... but he didn't.

At this point the brick option was looking very attractive indeed, but I refrained for a little longer, and walked 20 minutes in the direction I'd just come from back to where Sarah works. She didn't have the landlord's number either, but she did however provide me with some WD-40!

I walked back to the house, arguing with my mother on the phone all the way, and after a lot of spraying and jabbing and swearing... I got in! The door opened in a fog of WD-40. Thank goodness.

What did I learn from this experience? 3 things, really:

1. The importance of having your phone on.
2. That in an emergency, for about the first 5 seconds I'm an idiot, because my emotions take over. But when I need to be I can be practical and get things sorted. For some reason I am unable to be this way all the time. Like one of those goofy dogs that can smell when children are stuck down a well.
3. Just how much my Dad smells of WD-40.