I destroyed a wall over the course of the last two days. It was a bitty wall, not more than 12 feet in length. There was some debate as to if the wall was load bearing or not and no-one wanted to take responsibility of saying "this is fine" (ah the litigious world of liability we live in). So armed with a profesional's assesment of "i dont' see why not this can't happen-you just can't pay me to do it..." I cut a large swath of destruction and made a mess in my living room and now the wall is gone.
There was an odd sense of good and bad adrenaline as I was pleased to have removed the wall (when I moved in, last November it was something I wanted to do - hooray for having little goals and meeting them) and yet, at the same time,I started having doubts and was kind of afraid that when I went to bed, I would hear the tremendous crash of the ceiling coming down.
The next day the ceiling was still in place, and the wall was still gone.
There was an odd sense of good and bad adrenaline as I was pleased to have removed the wall (when I moved in, last November it was something I wanted to do - hooray for having little goals and meeting them) and yet, at the same time,I started having doubts and was kind of afraid that when I went to bed, I would hear the tremendous crash of the ceiling coming down.
The next day the ceiling was still in place, and the wall was still gone.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
The when was probably Tuesday of last week.
The settings starts (as often these do) in the bedroom.
I was all snuggled up in bed, pleasantly daydreaming about a particular lady in my life (not the Stephanie mentioned in the crush nor the bartender girl, nor the pretty girl who was pimping DARE)
and low and behold the doorbell ring-a-ling-lings.
Could I be so lucky as to have life imitate dreams?
No I could not.
Outside was an 87 year old man. We'll call him John, (because that was his name)
John was barefoot and dressed in a blue bathrobe.
"do you have a phone?" he asked
and I lied "no" (that's not the good deed by the way)
J- "I'm lost, I live at (the address of the complex that I live), and I locked myself out"
He lives in the G block, I live in the F block. I brought him in out of the cold.
John didn't have any relatives in the area that had keys. And he didn't want to call them.
I recently switched phones and the complex maintenance dude's phone number is lost in the old phone.
So not having anyone to call I dialed 911.
"is he dangerous" they asked me while I told my story.
well no. but that's not the point.
And so 911 *cough* is a joke *cough* gave the emergency contact number for the complex.
Called the number - it was an answering service.
the standard answer for people who were locked out "have them call a locksmith"
and John said "I'll pay you whatever you want"
Maybe my parents taught me right from wrong and I'm pretty sure that you're not supposed to take money from addled old men in blue bathrobes. And I have a strong sense of social justice and a desire to build lasting community so I say "John pay me 200 dollars or we're done and you're going to freeze to death outside in the cold because 911 already left you for dead because you weren't a threat to me" - NO actually, I said "John I'm not going to take your money"
"John, here's the deal, you can crash here if you like and we can call the locksmith in the morning so they don't' charge you like it is a 2am emergency or we can call them now"
he wanted to call them now.
They sent their specialist.
fiddles and twists, a deft turn of the pick, he pops the lock in 15 minutes, but turns in the wrong way, so we have to try again. and again. and again. and again. and again.
an hour and a half later, we have tried the front and the back door.
and we are going to have to drill. This is to the outside lock because while John had no problem panicedly buzzing my doorbell in the F block he doesn't want to wring on any body's doorbell in the G block where he lives (or claims to live)
The locksmith goes to get his drill, but he forgot the battery.
And now he comes back with something that looks like what they take your blood pressure with at the doctor, only instead of a tube you can put your arm into, it is a flat inflatable widget. He slips those into the door, one above the lock, one below it.
pump pump pump.
The door pops open! (Hooray for expensive locks and relatively cheap frames)
The hard part over, the locksmith goes for Door number 2.
John finally did get into his apartment. It was his apartment (that would have been irony on a whole different level). and the locksmith didn't charge him an insane price.
It was 4:00 am.
The day/evening dream didn't come back.