locked out (lyn)

I once employed a nanny for Alexander who turned out to be awful.  She performed well enough with Alexander (who was 3 at the time) but was horrid with me.  She had been with us only a few weeks.  After one-too-many blow-ups over stupid stuff, I decide to fire her.  I come home from work one day and tell her that I no longer need her services.  This couldn’t have been much of a surprise, as my discontent had to have been obvious. She insists on two-week’s severance; I say no, and she plants herself at my dining table and tells me she is not leaving until she is paid her severance.  I leave my own apartment with her in it.   I call the police who come and tell her she’s trespassing.  She leaves, and I change the locks — just in case.

The locks I got 17 years ago are not the ones provided by the building, and therefore do not fit the building’s master key.  But that’s never been a problem since we keep a spare set in the lobby closet.

Today Alexander and I make a quick Costco run, refilling on giant frozen shrimp, chicken breasts, fruit, bread, and vegetables.  Our quick shopping spree costs $100.  I can never leave that store for less. 

We get home and realize that neither one of us has keys.  Alexander mistakenly has taken the keys to his dorm room.  No problem, I think.  There’s another set downstairs.  But then I hear Alexander moan, “Oh know.”  Turns out he borrowed the spare set last night and didn’t return it.  I pretend Alexander is a good friend.  I wouldn’t get angry at a good friend, so why get angry at my son, right?  It works.  I stay calm.

Fortunately, there’s an empty refrigerator and freezer in our building’s basement, so I temporarily unload our groceries there, hoping none of the doormen get hungry in the meantime. 

Our favorite junior handyman (Jonathan) comes up and tries to open our door with a credit card.  It doesn’t work.  I suppose I should be grateful that the lock we have is a good one; I’m not.  Jonathan tells us that the lock we have is a special Multi-Lock and would cost a lot for a locksmith to open.  And then it’s Sunday.

Jonathan surreptitiously tells us that Roberto, our off-duty super (who does not like to be disturbed on his day off) is in.  I knock on his door and he is not happy.  He coughs and tells me he is sick.  He reprimands me for not having a building-sanctioned lock.  He tells me a locksmith would be very expensive.  Then he agrees to come up in twenty-minutes to see if he can do anything.

With the groceries not in any danger of thawing, Alexander and I sit in front of our door and wait.  Neither of us is in a talking mood.  Finally Roberto arrives with a large wrench.  He works wonders and manages to open the door.  Alexander and I want to cry we’re so happy.

Tomorrow we’re replacing our locks with the ones supplied by the building.  And Robyn is getting a spare set.  I doubt Alexander will make this mistake again.  Sometimes saying little is more effective than saying much.