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.