banolization 101
…before leaving for church…
a premonition
my hand will probably pass through the gap, but my chubby forearm might not. won’t be able to reach the lock then.
hmmmm…maybe i should just break open the window downstairs to reach the lock, but then again, that will probably give me more problems in terms of securing the house.
or maybe…
yep, that’s right. i’ll need a very good card, a hard card, in fact, to pass through the slit and push open the lock. *sigh* i’ll use my prc id then. nope, won’t do. have not received my new prc id yet.
atm card? nah, it’ll probably damage the card.
what else? a screwdriver? too fat for the gap. besides, it’s round. i’ll need a hard flat one.
card it is then.
maybe am just being paranoid, and this probably won’t happen. besides, tia caring is a bit “praning” when it comes to locking the doors and getting in, so she’ll be sure to say something and do the right thing. but still, won’t hurt to make sure that we can enter the house, just in case…for my own peace of mind.
yep, tia caring didn’t twist the lock of the ailing and dysfunctional sliding doors to the third floor.
good.
…basilica church…
tia caring, worried expression on her face: “ask gords. he’s the last person to leave the house.”
me, turning to gords: “you didn’t lock the first floor’s front door, did you?”
gords: “yes.”
no more on the issue of locking or not locking the front door, after having assumed that gords did not, indeed, lock it.
…home…
tia caring, a little terrified shriek: “he locked it! he locked it!”
gaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!
premonition came true!
me: “shit! shit! shit! you didn’t tell him?!”
tia caring: “i told him NOT to lock it!”
me: “you didn’t, or he wouldn’t have locked it.”
tia caring, insisting: “i did!”
checking to make sure that the first floor’s front door was, indeed, locked, ran towards the front of our house, up the stairs to the second floor, shook the screened doors till it sprang open, and shook the sliding door, in hopes of popping open the lock.
no success.
still locked.
no way in.
pushed my arm in to reach the lock. hand in…gaaaahhh!…forearm can’t get through! can’t get arm in! can’t reach lock!
sweating like a runner – wet armpits, neck, chest, and all – ran back down the stairs and asked for a card, any card, for that matter.
mama gave me her philhealth card.
up the stairs again, inserted the floppy card into the slit.
no go.
lock won’t budge.
down the stairs again, nearly screaming in frenzy, “hard card! need harder card!”
mama and lala, digging furiously into their purses, looking for “hard card! harder card!” when lala waved her privilege card at me.
good…hard card.
up the stairs again, into the slit the card went, and push.
no luck.
lock tough as rock.
lock stuck!
more pushing of card against lock. harder push!
nada! zilch!
shit! nearing panic mode.
three stupid dogs barking like crazy, begging for attention.
tia caring, moaning: “we can’t get in! we can’t get in! how can we ever get inside again?”
niko, crying: “mama! mama!”
his lola, my mama, carrying niko: “later, niko. mama’s doing something to get us in.”
poor baby, can’t understand why his mama is in such a panicked…and livid…state, running up and down the stairs.
gords, crossing the street and up the stairs: “what’s wrong?”
me, furious and accusing: “you locked the front door!”
gords: “why shouldn’t i? we were leaving for church?”
me, still shaking the door and still pushing at the lock using the card with jerky movements: “we have no key for the front door. we lost it some time ago.”
gords: “you didn’t tell me.”
me, controlling my anger, was thinking of the pizza that gords is going to order when we get in…if we get in: “i thought tia caring told you.”
gords: “she didn’t.”
me, still playing the blame game: “you must not have heard her. no front door key. lost front door key, so no locking on the inside, locking only on the outside.”
ah, saint jinx, control your temper. think of pizza…and cold coke afterwards…and yosi.
…if ever we pushed the lock open and get in.
if not…
(mind wandering)
what if we can’t get in?! where will we sleep?!
what about the baby?! his milk?! his diapers?! still have to give him a bath before bedtime, especially since he’s so sticky na. plus, he’s getting hungry…and sleepy…and scared!
what about my napkin?!?!
hmmm…how much does the services of a locksmith cost? will it take too long to make a key? 30 minutes? an hour? half a day? the whole day??? for that matter, where can i find a locksmith?!?!?! on sunday of all days?! maybe gords knows one. can he text or call one to come here…immediately? it’s a life and death situation, for pete’s sakes!
thinking about my husband, can i strangle him? is that legal?!?!?! is it going to put me in jail? i won’t choke him to death, mind you. just a liiiiiiittttlllleee iiitttittyyyy-biiiittttittyyyy squeeze here and a liiiiiiittttlllleee choke there.
(mind back to the present)
gords, taking the card from me: “what are you doing?”
me: “pushing the lock open. i checked and made sure that tia caring didn’t twist the lock before we left. so if i could only push it open, we can get in.”
gords: “lemme try.”
while he was pushing the lock with the card, i was gently positioning the sliding door into the position i knew that makes it easier to open.
pop!
ahhhh…the all-too familiar popping sound.
we’re in, fellows!
home, sweet home!
