Panic on The 5th Floor

One of things I already miss about my old apartment is the freedom of coming and going.  There was no super, no authority whatsoever allowing you to do exactly as you pleased any hour of the day or night.

If I couldn’t sleep, it was not unusual for me to stroll to the all-night Kinkos to laminate some pictures, or haunt the 24 hour donut shop for bad coffee.

This new dwelling has a formality to it.  The doormen look at me strangely when I come out a little before 5 to be the first one at Starbucks.  I also notice, no one on my floor rises before 10.  Do I give my best shrug to that.  By then half my day’s already gone.

That said, there I was, all dressed for Siberia anxious to keep moving, my biggest tip concerning change.  Stick to your rhythms no matter what since they’ll see you to the other end…when I couldn’t open the door.  I had locked it before bed, just the top, hooking the chain like all smart New Yorkers, and for some reason, it jammed.

Uh-oh…I felt the flush start in my chest working its way up.  I tried and tried and it just wouldn’t open.

Don’t panic Susannah, you have a doorman remember, I call who doesn’t answer.  Now I’ve noticed more than once he disappears leaving a sign saying…doorman will be back momentarily, a myth since it’s more like an hour.  The average person in that building is sawing wood having no idea the captain has deserted their ship.

I ring the house phone…then the lobby…still no Sampson who I happen to like.  The last thing I want is to be the new nutty tenant, but nonetheless was gearing toward calling the fire department.  I’m claustrophobic so the thought of being trapped even if it was merely momentarily, to borrow a certain term, terrified me.

I started talking to myself.  Listen Susannah, calm the hell down.  If you call 911 you know all hell will break loose.  Do you really want Frank the super running up the stairs in his boxer shorts following firefighters bearing axes?  That’s what happens by the way, they come equipped, ready for anything and will think nothing of hacking down your door like a pine tree.

I started to sweat, something unless I’m naked in a sauna, rarely happens.  My throat constricted while my feet got cold.  Panic is a bitch without edit.  It shows up like a wild mare galloping through your senses.

What to do…what to do…okay, my Connecticut roots are showing.  No, I didn’t put on Bermudas and a twinset.  I prayed.  GOD…GET ME THE FUCK OUTTA HERE.

So, after three more tries and still no word from the poop deck, it opened.

I realize, this is normal when you’re occupying a new space, the kinks need to be worked out, but….

I have one word for me, well five actually. CALL A FUCKING LOCKSMITH  SUSANNAH.

SB

 

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About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.
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50 Responses to Panic on The 5th Floor

  1. micklively says:

    A can of WD40 is probably a lot cheaper than a locksmith.
    I am gratified to hear your nocturnal perambulations were unfettered thereafter.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’ve been told it could be sticking from the heat. Just scary for me trapped like that. It’s one of the reasons I wouldn’t live on a higher floor. Need to get out. With two elevators, I’m still taking the stairs, this creature of habit.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Some great writing here! Glad you made it out.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I was sweating just reading about it! Whew nothing a prayer and an f-bomb can’t fix … sometimes that’s all we need.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. skinnyuz2b says:

    It’s all uphill from here, Susannah.
    I’ll be AWOL until the 18th. Costa Rica and warm weather. See you soon.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Elle Knowles says:

    Oh my Susannah…Sampson, who you have come to depend on, was not quick on the draw was he? Yes, I’d get that lock fixed or at least get Sampson’s personal cell number so when he decides to go off duty in the twilight hours, in the middle of his shift, he can be reachable! Glad you were finally sprung even though you had to do it yourself… 😉 ~Elle

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I agree with Elle. You need Sampson’s cell number just in case. Especially since you are the only one who would need his services “off normal activity hours.”

    Liked by 1 person

  7. 5;00A.M. I think it’s just a question of the doorman getting used to your idiosyncrasies, is all. But like Kate said…what if there was a fire? Very good question. Your Italian…tell em to their act together, otherwise they can expect a visit from your cousin Vinnie, and his brodder Vito! LOL! 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Because of all the excitement, I forgot to spell your as you’re. Got carried away. Susannah, now that you have Mafia connections you didn’t realize you had… please don’t call cousin Vinnie—and Vito—to rub me out. :o.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Suddenly, I just realized that I forgot to put the word GET into the sentence—tell em to get their act together…too. On second thought…you better call Vinnie and Vito to come and take me out! And I doubt it will be to the Olive Garden. 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Patricia says:

    I locked myself in the bathroom once…long story…and I freaked. I did get myself out but the door looked like one your firemen was at it. Sampson will have to shape up. It does seem they should have a work cell phone for when they are wherever it is they go.

    Liked by 1 person

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