A few weeks ago, I got that sinking feeling one gets when they lock themselves out of their house or car. We were leaving for Godfather's Pizza and I turned the lock on the side door that leads to our garage and let it shut just as I realized that the key to our house was not in my pocket. It wasn't in Dori's, either, as she had figured I could take care of such a simple thing.
It had been imperative that we leave when we did as I wanted to get to Godfather's when the buffet started at five as that's when the best selection of pizza are available, not to mention it's less crowded. I called information and got the number to a local place that we've used before called Paul's Lock & Key. I was told that it would cost $67 for someone to come out and that it'd be about 20 minutes before the guy would show up.
If only there was a way to break into the house. As a teenager, my mom sometimes locked the apartment we lived in on her lunch forgetting that I didn't have a key and counted on her to keep it unlocked. Since the dwelling was on the ground floor, it wasn't too big a problem for me to take the screen off my bedroom window and lift the window up.
Our house is a split-level. I checked the windows in the basement, but they were all securely locked as they should be. The only way I could reasonably make a break was at the window located about eight feet above ground in the front; this is the window that Zoe likes to look out on to view her turf. The screen was on there tight, but the window was open. The only problem, we didn't have a ladder.
Dori encouraged me to just wait for the locksmith, but getting the pizza I wanted, not to mention avoiding an unexpected fee weighed heavily on my mind as I put our garage dumpster below the window. I carefully got on top of it, but realized it wasn't tall enough for me to be able to enter the window. We did have a dumpster for recyclables, however, that was about 9 inches taller. I brought that one out and felt that if I jumped about a foot, I could enter the window.
Next, I needed to cut the screen open. Laying near the basketball hoop in the garage was one of those cutters that are used to chop weeds. I grabbed it and used the smaller dumpster to get onto the bigger one. I took the weed cutter and started slicing at the sides of the frame. Cheaper, I thought, to get a new screen than paying for a locksmith to come out.
Zoe, standing in the living room, gave me a WTF look.
Once I cut three sides out, it was magic time. I lifted the window high enough to make it through if I was able to make the jump. A minute later, I did so and felt the top of the couch on my belly. Success! I called Paul's Lock and told them I was able to find a way in, but wouldn't hesitate to call if a similar situation arose.
I shut (and locked) the window that had been my salvation and headed out with keys, making it to Godfather's before the buffet got going and hearing the happy tune of Dori telling me that she was impressed with my handiwork.