The realization hit us as we were about to leave the premises of my Melbourne apartment: We've left the keys at home.
There was a sudden moment of panic. Blank.
Then I said, "I've got my phone."
As I was checking out possible numbers to call, hoping that RACV was on it - it wasn't -, I realized that my phone was still connected to my modem. No numbers needed. I scoured online for the much needed digits - six, eight, as long as we could get in. My whole body was reeking desperation. My fingers were oozing with desperation.
One call, much waiting, and an hour later, I had a locksmith sent to my doorstep. He's your typical Australian guy. Tattoo-ed, with sideburns and all. His shirt indicated that he's a certified locksmith. I was relieved but it was not over.
Ten minutes of picking. No signs of unlocking yet.
"The door is just too darn stubborn", I muttered, my voice laced with worry.
Mr. Locksmith chortled, "You'll be sleeping out tonight."
And you know, I can't take jokes. I'm shitty like that. Tears were about to burst through my eyes, really. Before they could fall, he quickly said, "Joking".
Thirty minutes into the job, Mr. Locksmith decided to drill the door. "You'll need a new door."
I had the "WTFBBQ" expression on my face.
Priceless.
I leaned against my worn out sister. She was ill. And I brought this upon her. This made me ill too. Again, he muttered, "Just kidding". He flashed a toothy grin. I sighed in relief, in exasperation, in whatever.
The drilling was probably the worst sound I've ever heard. In my mind was: "THE DOOR. THE DOOR."
I feel for the door. It must have hurt. I'm sorry door. My mistake. I will get you a spanking new lock. 300 AUD will be burnt. My fault.
The door unlocked after multiple drills. My sister rushed in first. I stood out there, screaming "YES! YES!"
You had no idea.
The state of euphoria was short lived. I then realized that I had to get a new lock. I had to explain myself to my parents.
"Dear Mom, it is going to cost a bomb." I told her this, my voice strangled, filled with a cocktail of emotions. Mostly self-hatred, anger and disappointment. Over the phone, I sounded like a broken record. I knew it because the lines were choppy all the time. Skype was not an option. I would be a mess.
Never, had I just walked out of the house without my keys. Maybe twice. But I had my two flatmates.
We had nobody now. Nobody but us. This is what I realized.
