When we talked to our

When we talked to our landlords about getting the bars on our bedroom window--which faces the backyard garden--replaced with some that could accommodate an air conditioner, there was a brief debate over the short period of time between when the old bars came down and the new one went up that our window would be barless. J was a little nervous, but the landlords told him, while it was our decision, they wouldn’t really be worried about it. They reasoned that the backyards in the neighborhood all jut up against one another, making it a difficult, if not impossible, place to access from the street; plus none of the upper story windows have bars and they’ve never had any problems. In the end, we went ahead with everything and there were no problems.

My morning might have gone a little differently if we had been less concerned about keeping people out than about making sure people can get in. To their apartments. That they pay rent to live in. Namely, me: the Queen of Locking Herself Out.

I’ve been bad about remembering to water our flower boxes lately, so when I thought to do it this morning, I just grabbed the impulse. Unfortunately, I didn’t squash the impulse to close the wooden door behind me when I stepped outside, which we usually do to keep the cats in. There was an extended, heart-stopping, slow motion second where the door clicked shut at the exact moment I realized another thing the landlords told us: the door automatically locks when closed.

So there I was, standing in a lovely garden, in the middle of Brooklyn, an hour before I had to be at work, and with zero ways to get back inside or get to a phone. I climbed up the fire escape to the neighbor’s door, but no one answered. Climbing back down, I got up and stood on the picnic table and took a survey of the situation. Bars on windows? Check. Jimmy-proof locks? Check. Large, connected, very fenced in yards that stretch for the entire block? Check. I have never felt more ridiculous and helpless at the same time. I did a silent thanks for the fact that I was actually dressed; I’ve been known to pop out and water plants in sleep clothes and no shoes. I played with the idea of breaking the glass on my neighbor’s door, but that seemed like something to do only if someone was DYING. And I thought about cutting the screen and trying to wedge myself through the iron bars, but that immediately flashed forward to a scene involving an ambulance, a welder, two escaped cats, and police crashing through the apartment, so I decided against that.

Then, facing the fact that I couldn’t simply sit in the garden for ten hours, I did the only thing I could think of. I stood on the table and yelled for help. This would officially be the first time I have ever had to yell the words “help” in any sort of real way. Obviously, I toned down the intensity of it so it was more like, “Uh, heeelllp? Anyone? Hellooo? Help?” Finally a man stuck his head out the back door of a house a couple yards away. I then had to yell J’s phone number to the guy (Sam) and he agreed to call him and tell him I was stuck. Another minute went buy and Sam popped out to tell me J was on his way. THIS, my dear cell phone dependent friends, is why you memorize at least a few key numbers out of your cell phone.

So then I spent the next 30 minutes or so wandering around the yard, watering and pruning my plants (my fingers smell like basil) and staring at the cats sitting oh-so-helpfully on the kitchen ledge meowing at me. They were very concerned. Eventually, poor J arrived sweaty from the frantic bike ride and was my savior. He was about to substitute teach a class and, er, I think I ruined that.

Plus, this wouldn’t be half as embarrassing if I didn’t confess that this is the second time J rescued me this week, the first being when I somehow managed to lock up my bike at the gym (in Park Slope) and proceeded to lose the key to the lock in the 30 seconds it took me to get to class and realize I wasn’t holding it anymore. No key, no money, no subway card, no cell phone, and where the hell did that key GO anyway? Honestly, thank god for fiances with big hearts and fast bikes.

So, thank you J for being my knight on a shining Trek.

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