La Cage au Folle

Have you been to my apartment? If so, you know that the front door opens onto a landing that is enclosed by a gate. The little space is like a vestibule when the gate is locked. These are things you need to know to appreciate what happened to me I did to myself today.

Running late to meet a friend this afternoon, I was doing the Tasmanian devil thing through my apartment. Rush, rush, put on makeup, rush, rush, stuff phone and wallet in purse, rush, rush, grab umbrella and keys, slam door behind me. Locked.

Oh shit.

I looked down, and a little Care Bear was smiling up at me. The Care Bear that's on a keychain that is attached to my mailbox key. This is so not a Funshine moment. I tried the door -- no dice, only the faint mocking of my real keys from inside the apartment, sitting in what until this moment was my handy-dandy key container. Turned around and tried the gate in vain, discovering that the zillion pushups my personal trainer makes me do each week haven't prepared me for bending iron.

I was trapped.

All of a sudden, being late seemed so not like a big deal. I called my landlord (please pick up please pick up please pick up), got his voicemail. Argh.

Called my friend Jeff, whom I was supposed to be meeting, literally, across the street. He came over and showed much restraint in not laughing heartily and mercifully did not take a picture with his camera phone. As he left to try the back door (locked -- what is this, Fort Knox?), I tried my landlord again, and, praise be, he answered. He works only a few minutes away, so Jeff (thank you!) kept me company from the other side of the bars -- in the rain -- until he came. I gotta say, that's as close to being an inmate or a zoo exhibit as I wanna get.

The whole thing lasted about 25 minutes. Yeah, it really could have been worse. Yeah, I still feel like a dolt.

The moral of the story: Care Bears = evil.