That Time I Broke Into A House

Okay, fine it was my house. I just thought that title would make you want to read a little further into the post. And I was apparently successful since you're still reading right?

Now that I've tricked you to keep reading I'll explain myself a little further

I had wonderful weekend ahead of me: my teacher workshop day that was on Friday was actually a day off for me because we made it up last summer, hubby's plans fell through with friends so I got him to myself for the weekend, and HUNGER GAMES MOVIE IS IN THEATERS!!! *cue girlish scream*

Things were looking up from my uber stressful week and especially stressful Thursday afternoon.

So at noon on Friday I had already updated my blog and watched a few self-esteem boosting episodes of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" and was ready to head outside. It was 70 degrees in the middle of the March, which, for those of you who don't live in Maine is about as likely as there not being a fight during an episode of "The View".  (For those of you not familiar with daytime programming and the craziness that is Elizabeth Hasselback, that is not very likely.)

Before I got into my sunbathing attire to enjoy the sun, I wanted to take a peak outside on my deck to see if it was too windy to actually enjoy myself.

Let me give you a verbal tour of my apartment/humble abode before I get too far into this story. I live on the second floor of a two apartment house. When I walk into my house I head up the stairs, you can either head into my apartment, or go through another door that goes onto a half screened-in cement porch, and then even further out to a wooden outdoor deck. Not huge, just enough for maybe three or four people to sunbathe. Or for one person to get stuck on.
 Let's not get mixed-up over details.

Here's a photo of the deck for those of you who just skimmed the last paragraph because you're sick of reading and just want to get to the part where I go all Bad-Ass and break some glass:

Now just imagine the way to get out to that is another full door, and a cement screened in porch and you have yourself a nice mental picture of what I was getting myself into.

As I open the door to the screened in porch I am very careful to leave the door wide open that leads to our entryway because it locks. How do I know this?
BECAUSE MY LITTLE SISTER LOCKED HERSELF OUT ON THE PORCH LAST SUMMER.

That's right folks, what was about to happen to me happened to my sister last summer when she was staying with us. She went out for a nice little lunch with my dog, tried to head back in and realized she was locked out. Now at this point it was mid-summer and SUPER hot out so she didn't want to wait until someone came home because she was worried about dehydration, the dog trying to jump off, neighbors noticing she was stuck up there and taking the opportunity to break in, and I guess panicked a little bit in general.
So what did she do? She went ninja and jumped off the building.
And when I say she jumped off I mean, she first strategically tossed couch cushions that were on my landlord's outdoor couch that was kept on the screened portion of the deck, down below onto the 1st floor porch. She then dangled herself off of a gutter and dropped herself onto the couch cushions and porch about 6 feet below.
She hustled her way back upstairs, let the dog back in, and voila everyone was fine.

So, like I said, I did not want to end up like her because not only was I still in my pajamas but I had made fun of her for that incident after it too many times to let myself get into it.

As I made my way out I opened the door wide so I wouldn't end up like that silly little ninja sister of mine.

There were even some sneakers in the way so I was more than fine right?

I thought I was being silly because Dave had unlocked the door a few nights before when we had a friend over and we went outside to sit on the deck, it being a fake summer and all.

So I walk out onto the outdoor deck and quickly made the executive decision that I would be spending the afternoon outside. My inner monologue went a little something like this:

Okay, it's a little breezy out but definitely sunny enough to stay warm. Definitely tanning weather, maybe I could get into a bikini and get a good base going before I....

SLAM

Shit.

I spun around to behold the door slammed shut by that cute little aforementioned breeze. 

I thought as I race walked my way to the door, It's unlocked from the other night though right? Dave wouldn't lock it again, that would be silly.  Please don't be locked, please don't be locked.

IT WAS LOCKED.

I proceeded  to swear for a little bit, paced around, and tried the door handle a couple more times. 

I weighed my options out.

I could wait out here, it was about noon when I last looked at the time. I could just hang out here and lay out on...the boards with nails sticking up from them...

I could make a phone call...if I had brought my cell phone with me...but of course I didn't because I was planning on being out here for 20 seconds. 

Alright, well if my little sis could jump off this deck then I could right?
One peer over the ledge led me to two conclusions:

 1. That was a far fall without couch cushions at the bottom and 

2. That gutter held my sister, who is like 100 pounds when wet. I my friends, am more than 100 pounds when wet and would snap that gutter in a heartbeat. 

I also suddenly remembered that I have an aptitude for being a bit clumsy and envisioned myself accidentally slamming up against the first floor apartment on my way down, snapping off siding as I clawed at the house like a mad person, somehow punch myself in the ribs by flailing around so much, breaking my arm, and for the grand finale landing on the porch railing below and flipping over straight onto my face.

With those first two conclusions and now that graceful visualization of my fall stuck in my brain, jumping off was no longer an option. 

I had a moment of jealousy where I envied my sister's gutter dropping skills and then moved on to the next idea.

I looked around past my backyard and around the neighborhood. I could yell to a neighbor....if it wasn't the middle of the day during the work week. I listened closely and thought I heard some voices. 

I then realized that while they were voices, they were the voices of youths, also with the day off, and in the middle of a fight. Hmmm, I'll leave them to it. The more I looked around my neighborhood I decided it wasn't a good idea to yell around for random help since it's what one may call....a little sketchy in parts. 

Alright, fine, back to waiting. I can wait for four hours until Dave comes home. I'll be fine.

And then I realized that I had to pee. I really had to pee. REALLYREALLYHADTOPEE. Because of course I had two cups of coffee that morning and of course my nervous bladder had to kick in. 

This is the part of the story where panic sets in. 

I walked back to the door hoping maybe Harry Potter had stopped by and decided to do me a favor. 

Nope. 

Damn you Potter.

I pushed the door a little. It was bendy, HEY maybe I can break this down!

I channeled a little Detective Eliot Stabler and started pushing with my hips. They've got to be good for something right?

Unfortunately, the door was a little old and bendy, but the lock was not. 

Oh gosh, not only was that an absolute failure, but now I have to go even more than before since I've got things going in there. *Sniff* Ugh, did I even put deodorant on? 

God, some one's going to find me passed out from trying to break down the door, dehydrated, sun-burnt, (because it being mid-march I clearly have no base tan), in my pajamas, in a puddle of my own urine, with no deodorant on.

*Sorry for those of you who did not expect for my inner monologue to get gross. I was panicking. And I'm irrational. And a little crazy. I do teach middle school. Just keeping it real friends.*

So I look at the glass on the door. 

I can smash that. Smash it with my fists. Yeah! I can wrap my hand up for school on Monday in white gauze and I'll get total street cred. YEAH.

After about 3 "punches" into the glass I gave up. I didn't want glass in my hand, I don't want any street cred. I just wanted to go to the bathroom and be on this porch on my own terms. With some deodorant. And my phone so I could play solitaire and update facebook on how nice it was outside.

I looked around, ugh there is so much random stuff out here there had to be something I could use. 

Old litter box-Ew and Nope.

Weird fabric-y stool- That could work, buuuut it was our landlords, and I wanted to get out of this with as little damage to other people's property as possible. So no.

Christmas tree stand- Also not ours, and throwing something through the glass seemed more dangerous than punching the glass.

Two old rugs- Too soft, wait why are those even here?

Couch cover- Not effective for breaking, but I could tan on that if I'm forced to live my life out here...hmm...

Then I saw it:

A piece of wood. My accomplice. Or should I say my wartime battering ram.

Since I was in a tank-top I decided to wrap myself up in the couch cover, you know, since glass apparently can't penetrate cloth or something.

The first few times I tried using as little force as possible in the corners of the window so I didn't smash the whole thing up and get glass everywhere. That wasn't going to work. Looks like I can't be dainty about this.

I took a breath in and gave it a good shove. 

*SmashorShatterorWhateverthesoundisthatglassmakesyougettheidea*

I looked up from my newly assembled cape. Yep, that about did it. It was shattered, and the glass was everywhere.

I had a moment where I felt pretty bad ass, and then realized I had 5 feet of glass to make it through so I felt less like a criminal and more like a 24 year old female that has never committed and crime and still had to go to the bathroom.

Because I was, of course, in my bare feet, I now had no way to get to the door without cutting up my feet. But then I realized I looked like a fool with a couch cover on me like some living room superhero and laid it down over the glass. I walked up to the door, reached through the pane, and presto I was out. 

I grabbed some flip flops right next to my door to make my way to my apartment, past the rest of the glass. I went into my apartment and found a very distressed doggie, and not distressed at all cat. I went to the bathroom, and the next thing I did was OBVIOUSLY grab my phone to take pictures to text Dave. And of course share with you. 

Enjoy the gallery of photos that I would like to call :

What Damage Tricia Can Cause When Left Unsupervised On Her Day Off

 

Fortunately, the hubs and I have priced out the fix. It will be no more than 20 bucks DIY. 

*Phew*

And the lesson to be learned from this experience?

Always check to make sure the door is unlocked before going out onto the porch. 

Or just teach Bruin how to use an iPhone to call for help.

A dog using a cell phone is much cuter than a human checking a lock. 

I think we all know the clear choice here. ;-)