Never did I dream of writing on such a banal topic as doorknobs, but in the last week I've really come to appreciate just what an unsung hero this common household object is. Don't believe me? Let me 'splain.
The other morning I decided to get up early and let the Captain sleep in. I showered, did my hair, got dressed and was ready to go. But as I went to turn the doorknob it wouldn't budge. Not clockwise, not counterclockwise...I was trapped. With no phone around, a baby sleeping in the next room, my dog locked in the kitchen (who probably wouldn't have been much help in getting the door open anyway), and my husband gone at work for the next 10 hours, I was faced with a dilemma. Now, I really must say that I began to understand the claustrophobic mind, because I was about to begin tying sheets together so I could use my Spiderman-like agility and swing onto my next door neighbors' balcony. It seemed like a good idea at the time, never mind the fact that I live 8 stories up. Thankfully I was thinking with my noggin and I did dismiss the idea as probably illogical and ultimately suicidal; I decided to give it another think. I moved the door lock mechanism up and down and somehow it released the doorknob, though it now turns in the wrong direction.
Okay, I realize this may all be a bit melodramatic; in truth I believe the entire incident took place over the course of a minute. But it really did put me into a bit of a tizzy for a few moments as I pictured Jesse fending for himself in his crib all day long. I called the management company for a replacement.
Now what pissed me off next is that the management company agreed to send a doorknob repair person (does anyone know what to call this guy in Spanish?) but they said that if the problem appeared to be a "doorknob misusage issue" that I would have to pay for the repair. What the fuck does that mean? Can someone please tell me how one misuses a doorknob? Somehow I think I'm going to get charged for this thing anyway.
So the guy comes yesterday and I don't speak a word of mechanic's Spanish (which seems to be 20 times faster and more technical than regular conversational Spanish), so all I hear is that he's taking the knob and coming back tomorrow morning. Well, it's already tomorrow afternoon and he hasn't come. So I called the management company back and she says that he can't get the knew knob until next week. Um, scuse me? .
Have I mentioned that my bedroom is like a death trap for babies, which is why we keep the door closed in the first place? Not only do I have a problem with all the pill bottles, coins and small bits of jewelry he's apt to be picking through, but I don't exactly want him going through "mom and dad's drawer o' fun." ;-) .
So now I've got the Captain running in and out of my bedroom and I've had to put all my dangerous good out of arms reach from even myself and I'm supposed to live like this until next week?
To be frank, I should have known better. Last summer it took me 6 weeks to have air conditioning installed in this apartment, which was quite a shock to everyone since the landlord told us it already had an air conditioner installed when we rented the place. And one of the things you quickly discover living in Spain is that when a mechanic tells you that he'll be doing an installation mañana, it should be more like the mañana after mañana after mañana. And they will leave you hanging there til the end of the day so that you may never leave your house again, all the while thinking, "He'll be here any minute...I just know he will." And you call and leave messages and wonder, "Why isn't he calling me back? Was it something I did? When he was speaking all that fast Spanish to me and I was nodding yes, did I somehow agree to just wait here for the next 3 weeks until he returns?"
Sigh. I know, I got off track. Just understand this conclusion. Love your doorknob. Worship it. Know that it could be gone tomorrow and you could spend the next week just starring at an empty hole in the door.
The other morning I decided to get up early and let the Captain sleep in. I showered, did my hair, got dressed and was ready to go. But as I went to turn the doorknob it wouldn't budge. Not clockwise, not counterclockwise...I was trapped. With no phone around, a baby sleeping in the next room, my dog locked in the kitchen (who probably wouldn't have been much help in getting the door open anyway), and my husband gone at work for the next 10 hours, I was faced with a dilemma. Now, I really must say that I began to understand the claustrophobic mind, because I was about to begin tying sheets together so I could use my Spiderman-like agility and swing onto my next door neighbors' balcony. It seemed like a good idea at the time, never mind the fact that I live 8 stories up. Thankfully I was thinking with my noggin and I did dismiss the idea as probably illogical and ultimately suicidal; I decided to give it another think. I moved the door lock mechanism up and down and somehow it released the doorknob, though it now turns in the wrong direction.
Okay, I realize this may all be a bit melodramatic; in truth I believe the entire incident took place over the course of a minute. But it really did put me into a bit of a tizzy for a few moments as I pictured Jesse fending for himself in his crib all day long. I called the management company for a replacement.
Now what pissed me off next is that the management company agreed to send a doorknob repair person (does anyone know what to call this guy in Spanish?) but they said that if the problem appeared to be a "doorknob misusage issue" that I would have to pay for the repair. What the fuck does that mean? Can someone please tell me how one misuses a doorknob? Somehow I think I'm going to get charged for this thing anyway.
So the guy comes yesterday and I don't speak a word of mechanic's Spanish (which seems to be 20 times faster and more technical than regular conversational Spanish), so all I hear is that he's taking the knob and coming back tomorrow morning. Well, it's already tomorrow afternoon and he hasn't come. So I called the management company back and she says that he can't get the knew knob until next week. Um, scuse me? .
Have I mentioned that my bedroom is like a death trap for babies, which is why we keep the door closed in the first place? Not only do I have a problem with all the pill bottles, coins and small bits of jewelry he's apt to be picking through, but I don't exactly want him going through "mom and dad's drawer o' fun." ;-) .
So now I've got the Captain running in and out of my bedroom and I've had to put all my dangerous good out of arms reach from even myself and I'm supposed to live like this until next week?
To be frank, I should have known better. Last summer it took me 6 weeks to have air conditioning installed in this apartment, which was quite a shock to everyone since the landlord told us it already had an air conditioner installed when we rented the place. And one of the things you quickly discover living in Spain is that when a mechanic tells you that he'll be doing an installation mañana, it should be more like the mañana after mañana after mañana. And they will leave you hanging there til the end of the day so that you may never leave your house again, all the while thinking, "He'll be here any minute...I just know he will." And you call and leave messages and wonder, "Why isn't he calling me back? Was it something I did? When he was speaking all that fast Spanish to me and I was nodding yes, did I somehow agree to just wait here for the next 3 weeks until he returns?"
Sigh. I know, I got off track. Just understand this conclusion. Love your doorknob. Worship it. Know that it could be gone tomorrow and you could spend the next week just starring at an empty hole in the door.
1 comment:
Hey, remember the time you got locked in Jason's bathroom and threw up? The best part was when Audrey stepped in the puke. You definitely have doornob issues.
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