Locked Out – A Story of Woe, Self-Degradation, and Just Outright Fucking Stupidity

Two Sundays ago, I locked myself out of the house. What had happened was that I went to take the garbage out around 6pm or so. I had the garbage in one hand and was closing the door with the other. Instictively, I always lock the door behind me and, unfortunately, this time was no different. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I said to myself, “Shit!” as I realized what a stupid douche I was. What follows is the chronological order of events that took place just after I realized I was a douche.

6:05pm – My mind begins to go into crisis mode. I try to think of every possible way out of this awful situation. First, I climb on top of the trashcan and try to reach the roof, thinking that maybe, just maybe, a window might be open. Really, I know this isn’t the case because my parents keep the house locked tighter than Fort Knox because they think we live in Compton. I can’t even make it on to the roof.

6:15pm – After failing to shimmy on to the roof, I decide to haul the trashcan around back to the patio since the patio is about a foot high, all that much closer to the roof. I stack patio furniture on top of the trashcan, scramble up this very unstable structure I’ve constructed, and try once again to hoist myself on to the roof. Like my previous attempt, I fail miserably.

6:43pm – I knock on my next door neighbor’s door, thinking they might have a key. They’re not even home. I pace in the driveway for the next 15 minutes thinking about what I’m going to do.

7:00pm – I think to myself, “Well, my parents should be home in about 3 hours. I can either sit on the porch and wait for them to get home or I can find a phone and try calling a locksmith.” I choose the latter. I go across the street to my other neighbor’s house (who I didn’t really know), knock on the door, and when Mrs. Morganweck, who’s in her forties or so, answers the door, I say, “Hi, I’m Keith Elmy, I live across the street, and this is really embarrassing but I just locked myself out of the house. Is there any way I could use your phone real quick to call a locksmith?” At first Mrs. Morganweck looks at me like I’m a lunatic (and for good reason, my shirt was dirty from trying to climb on to the roof and I was pouring sweat since it was so hot out). Then she says, “Oh, uh, yeah, yeah, c’mon in.” At this point, I’m just thinking to myself, “You’re way out of your comfort zone, Keith, just make the phone call, be really gracious, and get the hell out of there.” So I call a locksmith and the girl at the locksmith place says that she has to page one of the technicians and that she’ll call me back. With great apprehension, I look around the Morganwecks’ kitchen, meekly ask for their phone number (which they kindly gave me), and I relay the number to the locksmith person. Before I hang up, I ask the person how long it should take until I hear back, and the girl says, “Oh, a few minutes or so, not long.” I sit in the Morganwecks’ kitchen for the next 45 minutes waiting for a call back. During that time, I’m carrying on a pleasant conversation with everybody in the family (Mr. and Mrs. Morganweck and their three children: Madeline, Ryan, and Rachel). I even sheepishly admit that I’m almost 30 and live with parents full-time, adding a ton of insult to injury. Meanwhile, in my head, I’m freaking the hell out; I’m way out of my element, completely imposing on these nice people, and feel like a complete boob for locking myself out of my parents’ house. So I say, “I’m gonna call the locksmith once more to see what the deal is” and then I call and the girl who answers is shocked to find out that I haven’t gotten a call back. She then asks if I want her to page somebody again and I tell her to just forget it. I hang up and say to Mrs. Morganweck, “Well, I’m just gonna go back across the street and wait for my parents. They should be home in a couple hours or so.” Mrs. Morganweck’s eyes go wide and she says, “Oh no, just hang out here and watch TV. We were just gonna go get something to eat real quick but you can hang out here.” I politely refuse, thank them for their help, go back across the street to my house, and sit on the front porch. A few minutes later I see the Morganwecks leave their house.

8:15pm – The sun has set, it’s getting darker, and I’m sitting on the front porch like a complete fucking asshole. I’m gross from having been so sweaty earlier, I’m still beating myself up for stupidly locking myself out, and I’m obsessing over what I could have been doing if I hadn’t locked myself out. At one point I actually start singing to myself. I go through a few verses of “Nobody Knows the Trouble I Seen” and “If I Only Had a Brain” and instead of feeling better, it just makes me feel like more of a shithead.

9:30pm – Sitting there, in the dark, I see the Morganwecks pull into their driveway. One of them (I can’t really tell who) comes halfway on to my lawn and calls out, “Keith? You still out there?” It’s Mr. Morganweck. Trying to muster my happiest tone, I reply, “Yeah, I’m still here.” He asks me if I want to come back over and hang out and I politely refuse since the last thing I want to do is impose on these wonderfully kind people again. So he says that I’m welcome to come over if I change my mind. I thank him and continue to sit there. Like a douche.

9:40pm – I see the Morganwecks’ front door open. Ryan Morganweck calls out from his front door, “Keith? My mom wants to make you something, do you want a bagel with cream cheese?” For some reason, this uber-kind gesture makes me feel even worse about myself (remember: I’m a douche) and I call back, “No, that’s okay, I’m good. Tell your mom thanks though!”

9:50pm – Ryan and his younger sister Rachel walk up. Ryan hands me a plate with a bagel on it and says, “My mom made this for you. This side has cream cheese and this side has butter because we didn’t know what you liked.” And then Rachel hands me a red, cold plastic cup and says, “And here’s some lemonade.” So I thank them profusely and say, “Thanks guys! And tell your mom thank you so much.” I sink my teeth pathetically into the bagel and start chewing. Believe or not, my spirits actually begin to lift a bit.

10:05pm – I just finish my bagel and am sipping my lemonade, in the dark, like a slow adult who lives with his parents and has lost the key that he usually keeps on a shoelace around his neck, when my parents pull into the driveway. I tell them the entire story and they laugh so hard that they don’t make a sound. After saying “Oh man, that’s good” and wiping the tears out of his eyes, my dad turns to my mom and says, “Well I’m so glad someone was around to take care of our little boy!” Then the laughter resumes.

10:10pm – I go back over to the Morganwecks’ to thank them once again for their spectacular kindness. We all have a good laugh over it and I tell them that I’m going to Home Depot the next day to get one of those fake rocks to put a key in. That was two weeks ago and I still haven’t gone to Home Depot. Like I said, I’m a douche.