Of course, I love you, honey. Just open the door already!
Once upon a time, we lived in a condo that had a front door that did not like to open. The deadbolt lock, which always latches, was crotchety, cranky and, sometimes, downright temperamental.
Because of this, getting into and out of our pad was at times a chore, one that required much wrestling, cajoling, jiggling, banging (not our heads, although, occasionally, our heads) and praying.
Yesterday, around 5 p.m., Husband and I returned from running errands, separately. I came in first and had no issue opening the door, but I struggled to lock it again. About 10 minutes later, I hear the lock jiggling and what I thought was the door opening and closing and some more jiggling. Three minutes later, I decided to investigate Husband’s progress. Only, the foyer light wasn’t on. Odd that he didn’t turn on any lights, I thought.
It turns out that it’s hard to turn on lights when you can’t actually get in the door. Husband was still standing outside the door trying to get the deadbolt to respond, and he was having no luck.
Oops. Sorry, sweetheart.
“Honey, why don’t you want me to live with you?” he asked through the door.
“I don’t understand why you won’t just come in,” I replied.
For the next 30 minutes, we tried everything to get the lock to give. Husband had wrestled the door to the ground a time or two before, and on his own, and he was certain he could do it again. This time, however, the deadbolt was not budging. And, we were causing so much ruckus that the neighbours began to investigate. None with any great advice, unfortunately.
Finally, Husband had me take the faceplate off the door from the inside. I was able to wiggle the deadbolt out of the door jam with a screwdriver, thus allowing the door to pop open.
For the next 30 minutes, Husband dismantled, re-mantled and dismantled again the entire deadbolt. Each reconstruction saw the same sticking happen, even after the entire piece had been soaked in solvent. Stupid deadbolt!
Time to call the superintendent. The super, who had re-worked a deadbolt a time or two in his day, noted a pin was missing and left to hunt down a new one. But not before following the proper bureaucratic avenues, making sure the “right” individuals were notified of the malfunction. He returned only to have to go looking for something else. Upon his third return, just before 9 p.m., the lock was fixed for good.
For a minute or two, Husband and I thought the broken lock might be an asset, keeping people who like to try living with us from getting in. But then we thought about how the two of us would enjoy being able to get in from time to time.
So, in sum, all’s well that ends well.