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December 17, 2003 ~ Morgan's Terrible Morning
Wednesday.
"Hello, MFA Program; this is Melissa."
"You can't even begin to guess how abysmally bad my day has been so far," said a very dejected-sounding Morgan.
"Uh oh. What?"
"Well, I've had to break into both Pokey and the house so far. The house twice."
"Oh Morgan... Poor Morgan. What...?" I tried very, very, very hard not to laugh.
This morning he left for his jog as I was getting ready to leave for work. Kiss goodbye and twenty minutes later I left. Locking the door. As I always do every morning, since the door doesn't latch unless it's locked. It started to snow as I pulled away. I passed him on Haywood Road, returning from his jog, smiling and waving.
Well, guess who discovered, when he got back to the house, that he had not remembered to slip his house key into his pocket?
He found an unlocked window and was luckily able to open the storm window with a little effort. Climbed through and one of my potted plants landed on him, spilling all of it's dirt all over him, the couch, and living room. Cleaned up the mess, showered, got ready for work.
He left the house, running a little late, and went out front to get Pokey started and ready. It's cold, so after several tries Pokey started. While she was warming up, Morgan thought, "I'll use the scraper to brush the snow off her and help the defrost along."
Now, Pokey's driver's side door will not open from the outside. You can get out, but you can't use the outside handle to get back in, so you have to enter through the passenger side.
Morgan got out, closed the driver's side door behind him, brushed Pokey down, then opened the passenger side and tossed the scraper in onto the floorboard. He thought, "I'll go ahead and lock the door to save myself time later," then slammed it shut. Then looked at the keys, still in the ignition of the running Pokey. And looked at the locked passenger-side door. Then looked at the unlocked but un-openable driver's side door. And cursed. Pokey chose that moment to stall out, which was actually a good thing, for she would have wasted a lot of gas in the escapades that were to follow.
Then he thought, "Well, I'll just go inside and get a wire coat hanger to jimmy Pokey's door open."
Then he looked at the locked front door of the house, and again at his ring of keys hanging from Pokey's ignition. "Aaauuugh!!"
So he went back to the window and proceeded to attempt a second break-in. And promptly smashed his hands in the storm window, which of course became irreparably stuck and unopenable.
He eyed the bricks on the porch, then looked to Pokey's windows, and was sorely tempted.
Feeling ready to murder something, he thought, I'll use my cell phone to call Melissa and get her to come back out here with Pokey's spare key." Then he noticed that his cell phone was sitting inside Pokey. "Right. Bloody fantastic."
He trudged all the way around the house looking for something vaguely resembling wire. He knocked on neighbors' doors, but nobody was home. Finally, he saw a flyswatter with a wire handle hanging from the neighbor's mailbox. (Don't ask me, I've no idea why she keeps it there). He stole the flyswatter, tore it apart and tried and tried to hook it around the lock on Pokey's door. Finally, when he had it just right, he yanked, and instead of pulling the lock up as it should have, the flyswatter broke in two.
I'm sure the neighborhood had been serenaded with a rather creative and lengthy string of epithets by then. With the remaining wire, he tried again, even though he only had two inches left to hang onto. Finally, Finally...
It opened.
And there was much rejoicing.
But, now, Morgan couldn't exactly put the mangled and broken fly swatter back on the neighbor's mailbox. So he went inside, found the flyswatter that had been left in our house by the previous tenants (we've no use for it, we have rather live-and-let-live attitude with the flies), wrote a (probably rather confusing, but very apologetic) letter to the neighbor, left these two things on her mailbox, and finally, finally, was able to go to work, and had called me from the car before he left. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am probably late for the wreck that I'm bound to get into on the way there," he said just before he hung up.
Poor, poor Morgan. The really funny thing is, he has never (never!) locked himself out of either the house OR the car. Ever. Both would, of course, happen on the same day. Sheesh.
(Though we did lock ourselves, simultaneously, out of a dorm room, once... When we were wearing only towels. That was fun, lemme tell ya. First night in the dorm, and we hadn't been informed that the doors automatically locked.)
It's now afternoon, however, and we'll soon be at the theater, ready to be transported to Middle Earth (can't wait!), so things are looking up.
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