Locked Inside My Own Room

        When I turned 18 years old in August of 2005, I started going to college at the University of Utah. I lived alone in North Salt Lake City until May of the next year. During my time I did some pretty stupid things (without drugs/alcohol, mind you) that make for some entertaining stories. This is one of them.


        On an otherwise quiet morning, one of the many stupid things I did was manage to lock myself in my own bedroom. It is not so difficult to lock yourself out of a room, but to be trapped on the inside was a new experience. It is pretty embarrassing to event admit, but I blame the lock on the door handle- that bastard.

        You see, this lock was no ordinary lock... Okay, I lied- it was an ordinary lock. It was the type where there is the door handle, and then in the middle there is the little thing that you can grip and twist to lock. Given that I lived alone, I had never used it before, but for some reason on this particular morning I noticed that it was broke. It kept on twisting freely without locking. I messed around with it for a minute and it finally made a clicking noise. I wanted to see if it actually locked, so I closed the door. It turns out, it did indeed lock. See figure 1-1. As it also turns out, it was still broke and would not unlock. See figures 1-2.

Fig. 1-1

Fig. 1-2

        So my situations is this- I am locked in my room, going to be late for class, and all I have to work with is:

1) A hardback book
2) A plastic "credit card type" card
3) A coat hanger
4) A pair of scissors
5) My own sexy body, and
6) A night stand

         For the sake of saving time, I will just say right now that the plastic card didn't do crap, and that the coat hanger only succeeded in making a really unappealing, God-forsaken sound. However, it came to my attention that I had, a year earlier, attempted a handstand in the narrow hallway at my parents house. It also came to my attention that after this handstand my parents became rather pissed off with me, for I had fallen out of this handstand. My leg had smacked the door handle of our bathroom door and taken the handle clean off. Aha! I had realized the door handle's weakness. With this in mind I started beating the crap out of the handle with the hardback book, in hopes of breaking the door handle off, for I knew it was possible. Much to my dismay the book- which tells the story of the rise and fall of "Napster" (the music thing)- failed horrendously and did not take the door handle off. In fact, the handle was fine and the book was heavily damaged. Really not surprising, the cheap piece of crap, I had bought it for only 99 cents plus tax at Media Play a while back, when they were going out of business, just for kicks and giggle. I mean, hey, 99 cents plus tax, can't beat that for a hardback book, right? Right....

        I needed to think of something quickly because I was going to be late to class. I decided to pull up my night stand next to the door and kick the door handle, in hopes of taking that son-of-a-gun clean off. Nope. This method proved to only be good at inducing unholy amounts of pain in my foot. This was also responsible for me- for the first time ever- shouting out a stream of curse words at a damn door handle; I was like a sailor. See figure 1-3.

Fig. 1-3

        So about 30 minutes have passed and I am definitely going to be late for class. I begin to grow weak, as I have no food, water, nor other provisions in my room. But I also begin to grow angrier. My heart rate is quickening, and my adrenaline is building up. Like a commercial for the U.S. Marines, I triumphantly climbed on the night stand again. (You know, those Marines are always climbing up shit in their commercials.) First, I place the book on top of the handle, so I could have a little cushion, and I start the kicking again. Damn this door handle. With the book, less pain was induced in me, which allowed me to kick longer. Was I finally going to get this silly door open? Nope, foiled again. However, and this is a big "however," as well as the climax of our story- our crescendo, if you will- however, it was beginning to loosen.

        As the handle began to loosen, I started pushing really hard on it. I put all my weight on it (all 125 pounds of it [hey, I'm at 145 now, so that's good, right?]) I managed to open up a little crack on the top portion. I sprinted (a whole 4 feet,) grabbed the scissors and shoved them in. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but at least I was trying to do it, right? Right.

        Long story, oh, about 3 sentences shorter, I finally was able to push on something with the scissors, which allowed me to pull the door open. Freedom. Sweet freedom. Oh, and I'm proud. To be. An American...  

        The aftermath: The door actually remained locked. The little twisty still turned freely and would not unlock. I was just able to hold something correctly with the scissors that allowed me to quickly pull the door open. So had I ever closed the door again, I would have been locked all over again. I bet whoever moved in after me had a pleasant surprise the first time they closed the door.

        The thing that really sucked is that I had been habitually late to class for two or three weeks leading up to this incident. That morning I had intentionally woken up about 20 minutes early in hopes of making it to class on time. Turns out that it was the latest I had ever been. I had no idea why I decided to mess with it right before leaving to go to school. But I guess there is a valuable lesson to be learned... At least, that is what I'm guessing.