I was just trapped in my own bedroom.
Since our house is old and ghetto, we have really really old doorknobs. The glass knob kind. The kind you can’t TAKE THE SCREWS OUT OF WHEN YOU GET LOCKED INSIDE.
I went to go brush my teeth, and discovered that my doorknob wouldn’t open my door. The knob would turn all the way around in a circle without catching on the lever part that keeps the door shut. I turned it. I jiggled it. I yanked on it. I banged on the door. I whimpered in helplessness. I turned to boys for help. First they laughed. Then they started to be helpful. Then they decided this was a good opportunity to make fun of gender-based crisis management skills. “Would you like to talk about your feelings?” I tried to take the screws out of the whole doorknob unit, but the knob was in the way so I couldn’t turn the screwdriver. Breaking the glass in the door and jumping out was an option. Taking out the hinges was another. Jumping out my third-story window and trying to catch the neighbour’s fire escape was my next thought. I really thought I was going to be locked in here forever, or would have to destroy the door. Just in time for the landlord to come through tomorrow showing the apartment to new potential lessees. I didn’t want to do it, but I did it. I called Christina’s phone (thankfully we have different lines), woke her up, and asked her to come try to open my door from the outside. It opened. (At this moment, the Sultan’s “PRAISE ALLAH!” line from Aladdin comes to mind.) Thank you, God. Just a little excitement to keep me on my toes.
Remind me to not close my door any time soon.