It was a cleaning day.
You know, the kind where all your decent clothes are in the wash and your outfit consists of articles of clothing that should have been donated years ago.
I was in cleaning mode.
I wanted everything out. Realistic, right? I get in that mode at least once a season, when I leave home for more than a week. I envision an adorable apartment in the works: no clutter anywhere. Every space minimal. Each piece of furniture just right, and all the decorative items hand picked and perfectly placed.
And then I come home and move everything out of the way. Then it becomes another room's clutter, so I move it back. And forth. And back again. In attempt to rid the kitchen of extra mismatched dishes, I went out onto the porch to grab a big box. I'm ghetto like that: spare cardboard boxes chilling on the porch. If you saw my apartment building I swear to you I'm just trying to keep up with the vibe of the whole place. Immediately after letting go of the door handle and reaching for the box, the wind blew the door and it slammed shut. Startled, I grabbed the door handle.
It was locked.
I live on the second floor.
First I looked down. Definitely too far to jump. And of course I didn't have my cell phone. As I was desperately trying to pry the window open, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection. No make up. And I'm pretty sure my hair was in pigtails or something of the sort. I couldn't have looked more like a 12-year-old girl if I had tried. J was in Washington for our summer job, so he definitely wasn't coming home anytime soon.
Chill out. I thought. It's not so bad. Take this opportunity just to soak in life and wait for someone to walk by. I attempted to sit down, but the boxes were dirty and there were spider webs everywhere. I didn't even have shoes on. I tried to at least use the railing to climb down, but the spaces in between the wood paneling were so small I could barely grip with one finger. There was a Dish Network satellite hooked to the side of the building; it seemed sturdy enough... but I didn't try.
So I waited. And paced back and forth nervously, as much as the small space allowed me to do. I thought about yelling, "HELP!" but before I realized what I was doing, I was actually yelling "HELP!" And then hiding behind the boxes, hoping no one heard that pathetic yell.
A car pulled in the parking lot. I waved them down, but nothing. They probably thought the 12-year-old girl was just having fun on the porch.
Finally, a couple walked by. "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!" They hesitantly look. They were obviously confused. Can't say I blame them.
What I said was a bit of a blur, because as I was explaining, it was all they could do not to laugh. The kind man used a readily available chair to stand on and hand me his phone.
Luckily I remembered that I left our spare key at our friend's place just down the street. "In case I lock myself on the porch!" I should have said.
I used the man's phone, who was definitely laughing now, to call J and quickly explain that he needed to call Heather and and have her use the spare to get in our place and then let me back inside. J didn't understand what was going on, again I don't blame him. But he must have called Heather, because not long after she and her dog Atticus were there to save the day. Tears were definitely coming by then. I muttered a few thanks, and luckily she didn't stay long, because I definitely wasn't up for company at the moment.
I just needed a shower.
I jumped in and warm, brown-like, smelly water came out of the shower head. I definitely forgot that they were working on the water pipes.
It was a good day.
And oh yeah, thanks Heather. What would I do without you?