Around 7:30 I hear Marta buzz the front door to the building (picture a brownstone or townhouse where there is a front door and then an apartment on each floor). Since she lives on the ground floor, about 10 feet from the front door I figured I’d just run over quickly in my underwear to let her in. So I did. But her apartment door closes automatically and seconds later, before I could run back and catch the door, it closed! Yup. Locked out barefoot, wet hair and in my underwear.
Marta graciously gave me her cropped jacket to wear as I wiggled my sweatshirt down into a skirt (totally invented a new fashion statement) as she started yelping and calling local locksmiths. (Literally the night before I was asking her what would happen if she got locked out and she said nobody has an extra key so she’d be screwed). Ugh. I felt awful!
As I awkwardly sat on the steps in the building but outside her apartment, Marta ran to find an ATM so we could pay the locksmith. She came back with a full wallet and a full bottle of wine. We then sat. And drank. And sat. And then the locksmith arrived!
I don’t want to share how much we ended up spending on the locksmith (I hate the pound!) but now Marta has 3 sets of keys, a brand new lock and a funny store to tell to scare future guests from leaving the apartment without keys, a doorstop and pants.