Before I type this post, let me preface it by saying that yesterday was a good day. It’s going to seem like I’m complaining about it, but I’m not. Not really.
We were busy, but in a good way. We had sweet delightful school groups that needed assistance, but thats the kind of library work I like. I was on my feet a lot-no big deal. By 1:00 I kind of was starting to feel like my feet were swelling in my shoes. This hasn’t happened to me before, but I know it’s normal, so I tried to not be on my feet a ton after that, but that sort of made it worse because then when I WOULD have to get up, they’d really, really hurt.
But all in all-a good day. Good kids, good staff. The captain has been sick for many days and she was back, and we had a potluck.
I was tired by the end though and I knew I had law firm work that had to be done (tax season is THE WORST) so I went to the firm, loaded up a box of books to work on, and headed home.
We have a security system on our house that came with one of those digital deadbolts. I don’t really have much to say about it, because it just is what it is. We punch a code in, it let’s us in our house. Badabing.
But last night EVERYTHING went wrong.
I get to the house with a box of semi-heavy (not too heavy) law books and my aching feet that are dying to be released from their shoe prison hell. I put my key in the door and turn it and then enter my code in. I hear the door start to unlock, but then it gives me the sound of “something went wrong-try again.” So I enter it again, and then this woman’s voice chirps “Dead batte-” and dies. IT FUCKING DIES.
I try about ten more times. Then I sit on the ground and, in the words of Julie Powell, I cry, “like a mentally disturbed child.” Seriously. I sat on my front porch and sobbed for about five minutes with my legs sticking straight out BECAUSE I JUST. WANTED. TO. TAKE. MY. SHOES. OFF.
Then, I sort of pulled myself together and called my mom. See, the way my house is configured, we have a side door that goes into what used to be the garage, but was turned into a “den” when my in-laws lived there. We don’t use it for anything but Chief’s tool storage area because it’s gross. It has popcorn walls that are nicotine stained from Chief’s dad. Luckily, it has a door that leads into our kitchen, and we just leave it closed and locked all the time. There is a dog door in the side door and sometimes Bubba likes to go down there for a while if he can’t wait the five minutes it takes for me to let the other dogs do their business before I let everyone back in. So I do have to open it to let him into the house, but for the most part, it stays closed and locked.
Anyway, I called my mom because I was pretty sure I could get myself through the dog door. It’s the giant size for when BIL and his rottweiler lived with us. I’ve crawled through it before, but not since I started bumpin’. The problem would be once I got into the downstairs. I knew the door into the kitchen would be locked, because I always have it locked. I was hoping my step-dad knew a way to jimmy it open and he did. He said if it’s one of those that has a hole on the other side of the lock I could stick something straight and skinny in there and use it to turn the lock on the other side. Luckily interior doors aren’t that secure. Or maybe in our case, unluckily. Just depends on your perspective.
So I picked myself and my purse up. I left the law books-who would steal those? I walked through the gate into the back yard and to the side door. I shoved my purse through the dog door and then somehow, MIRACULOUSLY shoved myself through as well. I had to rotate my hips to do it because they’ve gotten so damn wide, and I snagged my sweater a little bit, but I did it. I made it in. A month later in this pregnancy and I wouldn’t have. Then I had to use the flashlight on my phone to find something to jimmy the door with. Luckily Chief had left a picture hanging kit out and it had those long skinny picture hanging nails-seemed like my best shot.
So, covered in dust from crawling through the dog door and with mascara running down my face, I jimmied the door open using the picture hanging nail. I was at once relieved and horrified at how easy it was to get into my house. Some of it has already been rectified and some of it will be further rectified this weekend, but yeah-check your houses people.
My dogs were happy and confused. They had heard me on the other side of the front door sobbing and then, lo and behold, momma comes through the kitchen door? At any rate. I opened the front door, grabbed my law books, and stripped down to a giant My Little Pony t-shirt and updated tax code from the comfort of my bed. Another breakdown almost happened when it looked like Netflix wouldn’t work, but I got it going and had some Gilmore Girls comfort as I waited for Chief to get home and vindicate my struggles with the door.
Then Chief came home. AND THE FUCKING DEADBOLT WORKED FOR HIM.
And I started to cry all over again. It went something like this:
Librarian: “IT WOULDN’T WORK FOR ME! YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME, YOU THINK I’M STUPID!”
Chief: “I do believe you. Why do you think I don’t believe you?”
Librarian: “I CAN JUST TELL. It wou-wou-wouldn’t work for me (blubbering had begun full on)! You know I know how to open our front door but it wouldn’t let me in and I had to crawl through the dog door!”
Chief: “I know you wouldn’t do that if it wasn’t broken, I promise I believe you. I don’t know why it’s working now”
Librarian: “WELL CHANGE THE BATTERY ON IT ANYWAY! AND I NEED A COPY OF THE BACK UP KEY FOR WHEN THIS HAPPENS AGAIN!”
So he did. He did change the battery. And then he rubbed my feet that had been swollen, but had gone down a bit since I’d elevated them in bed. And then he made me waffles for dinner at 9:00 at night because I was hungry. And blubbering. And he knows the best way to stop that is to stick food in my mouth. Then he stroked my hair until I fell asleep in a pile of tax code.
So that was my Wednesday night-TOP THAT. I DARE YOU.