The Weekend in like a Lion, out like a lamb

Friday:

Knee deep in renovation packages, the stapler jammed and photo copier quit in protest of scanning such boring and tedious material, over and over and over again. I finally completed the work given to me at a tardy hour when my boss proposed a redevelopment with the renovation package rendering the pile of collated, labeled stacks obsolete. It was 6:30 when I finally left the office to head home to the left over pasta I made the night before. I toiled over a homemade tomato sauce, laden with basil and lots and lots of garlic, and was looking forward revisiting it sooner than later. I must admit it was a success and if I could bathe all my food in it for the rest of my life I would be a happier person for it.

A neighbor kindly let me into my apartment building after an awkward time passed between us as I chanted “if got it, I’ve got it” fumbling for my keys. She gave the best of chances and then finally her desire to get into the building over powered her wanting the small victory for me; I didn’t blame her. My small bag’s interior grew as I thrusted my hand inside into each corner pulling out lip gloss, cell phone, bobby pins, wallet, book, weird magnet from Cancun I took home from work a week ago, but no keys. I threw the bag on the floor, got on my knees and ripped it open dumping the contents on the hallway floor. All the while, my starving cat screamed at me from behind the door. Panic stuck, no Keys!

Like a rational, calm person I imagined never being able to get back into the apartment, living life like a vagabond getting by on wink and smile, my cat dying from neglect and loneliness, worrying about the plans I had later that evening and not wanting to wear my work clothes to them, imaging the phone call to the ex-boyfriend who still had a set of keys he was remiss to return, seeing the look on my mother’s face with her daughter’s continued irresponsible behavior as the apartment burned down from the inside as I stood trapped outside the door. I remained on my knees, praying I missed them and if I only reached slowly back in the bag the keys would appear. No keys!

I left the bulk of my packages at the door and set out into the rest of the building for clues, signs of life. I remembered an inspection certificate in the vestibule that included the landlord’s number. Ah ha…the landlord has another set of keys. Brilliant! I placed my foot inside the apartment door and reached my body around to get a look at the Certificate. I didn’t want to get trapped out of the building completely, in case I had to spend the cold night on the hallway floor (these were not rational times.) I got the number and called Joe the landlord who promised to be at the building in a half an hour to rescue me from certain death alone on the streets, vulnerable to wild, rabid dog attacks and muggers.

I had thirty minutes to kill. I called a couple of friends to share with them the “typical Jaime” story. No one was surprised with 1.me locking my keys in the apartment, 2. my gross over reaction. I dreamed of my couch and television as I wandered the streets in pursuit of 20 minutes worth of killing time activities. I ordered Chinese food, waited, bought it, took it back to my stoop to keep me company with my book while I waited for Joe the Landlord who arrived when promised. He had kind, non-judgmental eyes and delivered a set of keys directly into my hand, as if guided by angels.

I was in! The cat was fed! We were happy! What ever happened to that kind landlord during the course of the evening I do not know; I ate Chinese food, sat in front of the television, dressed up in fishnet tights and went out dancing with Dana, Abby and the two Andys. I found I had a greater appreciation for life’s treasures, friends, dancing, music, fishnets having been homeless for a whole 30 minutes.