As a new resident of Portland, I would say that my boyfriend is a little too laid back about locking his door. In the two weeks that he has been here I have seen him often leave without locking it at all, though my judgment came before I knew the secrets of the door. Working an early shift which required him to leave at 5am, he was gone long before I was up and about. When he said goodbye this morning, I mumbled something about locking the door to prevent my paranoia from coming to fruition. I assumed and trusted that he had done so and many hours after he'd gone I went about my morning, preparing to meet my roommates for the Saturday Market. I had finished my toiletries when I realized my Ipod was MIA and decided to retrieve it from my car. I grabbed my keys, leaving my phone and wallet behind. Oh fatal decision. How different my day would have been had I but grabbed those two simple items. When I opened the door, I rolled my eyes for my boyfriend who seemed to have forgotten to lock me in. Oh well, I seemed to be safe and so proceeded to my car. Alas, having not found my Ipod and having pulled the apartment door entirely closed, I returned to the house and a locked door. The door had a one sided locking mechanism that I had known nothing about. There was instant disbelief, then hope that I could somehow break in. However, the most obvious attempts proved futile and I was forced to consider more drastic measures. But really, I couldn't exercise my full working understanding of breaking and entering, such as the old credit card trick or a hair pin, because legally I have no right to be inside that house. I have no key, no written consent to be on the premises. And no phone to make any kind of phone call, though I don't know who I would have called anyway, as the boyfriend works 12 hours and I'm not allowed at his work place anyway. Mind you, this was at 11am, before I had made any concrete plans with the roommates of where and when we were to meet, who were going to call my locked up phone when they were ready with details, and 7 and a half hours before the boyfriend got off work. All I had was access to my car... No food, no bathroom; I began to feel like a vagrant. At least I had put on my warm coat, or else I would have frozen.
I kicked around several ideas including showing up a my aunt and uncle's doorstep in order to use the phone or breaking the front window of the apartment. But it boiled down to me not having my license, a means of direction, or a tool to conspicuously make the house available to me. So with 7 and a half hours of time to kill, I began to wonder. What would my roommates do when they couldn't get in contact with me? Would they call the boyfriend or report me as a missing person? Where would I go to the bathroom should the need become desperate enough? And what of the boyfriend's roommate who was supposed to be home from Seattle today? Believe me, after a couple hours stranded outside, I began to feel like a missing person... This of course must be the most fitting ironic end to an otherwise enjoyable weekend.
Once I had exhausted my ideas for getting back in the house, I walked a few blocks to see the sites (fortunately I was stranded in a very safe part of town). I then drove a few blocks without my license to see if I could find a free phone or bathroom. I was successful in the case of the latter and resolved not to drink anymore of my precious water store in the hopes of preventing further bathroom need. In other words, I went into survival mode. Despite the monetary success of finding a bathroom, I was stilled doomed to sitting in my car, which grew warmer the more I sat and breathed in it with nothing to do but wait... and wait... and wait some more...
Surprisingly, the minutes passed with relative quickness as I had no clock but the one in the car and I refrained from looking in order to save the battery. Four hours were gone before I could believe I was really locked out and I had but 3.5 to wait. And yet as I sat and waited, I decided some things that very likely would have remained undecided had I not been given 7 and a half hours of my own time today. I decided the reason I cannot write or see the humor in life is that I am always plugged in. I'm rarely alone and always have my phone or computer near by. As irritating as the ordeal was, there were moments when I rather enjoyed the nothingness that surrounded me. I had to come up with things to do for myself. I got to people watch without being tagged quiet or weird because nobody knew me. I got to see a guy farmer blow in the city and then act nonchalant while families walked their dogs and children and bicyclists abounded. However, the real decision I made was that since I want to write for a living, I need to carry a big notepad and unplug myself often. I also decided I need a smaller car if I'm going to live in Portland and that I'm comfortable in Portland because nobody questions the weird things we do. While these thoughts were lovely and deep, it soon became apparent that what I really wanted was to be back inside the house.
Finally, 5 solid hours into my estrangement from the interior of the house, the boyfriend's roommate returned from his travels to rescue me from my homeless state. The day has not turned out how I planned it to, but at least I am back in the house. And my realizations remain, even when brought about by a lame turn of evens.
