Locked Out

    I saw my Leasing Agent for the first time in awhile today, and although he probably can't recall my name, he does remember that I somehow locked myself out of my apartment, which is almost impossible seeing that the front and terrace door must be physically locked.  You are probably wondering how I committed such a difficult task, so here's my story.
    It all starts back in graduate school almost a week after I had moved into my first "on my own" apartment.  I was on the balcony organizing my outdoor storage closet when I heard the air conditioner kick on.  Being the economical person that I am, I decided to close the sliding glass door.  The security bar, which my father had to have installed for me and my safety (reminder: I was on the third floor so I guess I needed protection from someone like Spider Man), came crashing down preventing me from opening the balcony door any more than three inches.  I had no phone and the parking lot was empty of any superheroes who could relieve me from my ridiculous situation.  Of course, images of the fire department arriving to set up their trampoline for a successful rescue mission or thoughts of me scaling down the side of the building all Mission Impossible style came to mind.  Instead of relying on others to get me out of this embarrassing position, I MacGyver-ed my way back into my apartment by using skinny arms and a broom.
    This brings us to Arlington, VA on a cold, rainy day when our Leasing Agent took us on a tour of our new home.  As you very well know by now, a tour of our 715 sq. ft. apartment shouldn't take long, but he lengthened this excursion by showing us how certain items worked such as turning on the garbage disposal, starting the dishwasher, and using the security bar on the sliding glass door.  When this portion of the tour arrived, PDub and I couldn't help but look at each other and laugh, requiring a full explanation for the Leasing Agent.

Stupid security bars.

    A couple weeks after we moved in, PDub decided to enjoy a beautiful spring day by going on a bike ride (leaving his phone and keys behind) while Maya and I relaxed on the terrace, reading and soaking up some Vitamin D.  When I heard the air conditioner kick on, I went ahead and shut our terrace door only to see that horrible bar come falling down once again.  The people grilling out in the common area were surprised to hear me yell such a vulgar term.  Instead of leaving Maya on the terrace to cry and bark, I picked her up, climbed through the jungle, asked a sunbather (who was a little overly fascinated with Maya) to sneak me into the building, and depressingly walked down to the front desk.  Who's face did I see?.....Our Leasing Agent!  About an hour after I was let back in, a maintenance man came to rig up a different type of security bar, so such a thing would never happen again.

The terrifying jungle!!!!

The Dub's Terrace

    I will forever and always have "gets impossibly locked out" on my record.  The Leasing Agent asked me again today if I had locked myself out on the terrace lately, and of course, another individual in the hallway overheard, smirked, and told me he wouldn't tell anyone.  So, here I declare to the world that I am a professional when it comes to getting locked out.  Just let me know if you need to read my notes....