keyless entry
So the other morning, Susan asked me to get some milk from a store downstairs. No problem, right? The store is only a couple of steps away. I threw a jacket over my pajamas, grabbed some change, and headed out into the cold unknown.
As soon as I shut the front door of the apartment, I realized - uh oh - that I didn't have my keys with me. Tugging at the door handle did not change the situation for the better.
I still had my mission in front of me, so I went to the store to get the milk. I had some coins left over, so I figured I'd walk down to the nearest phone and call Susan to open the door.
It's been a while since I used one of those payphone things. It didn't help that at that point I was shivering, and probably looked very homeless with my pajama pants and a jug of milk. Needless to say, I dialed the wrong number, and the payphone happily ate my $0.50.
I reassessed the situation. Our apartment is on the third floor, so any attempts at climbing through the window / throwing objects at said window / yelling would probably be fruitless. I figured I'd count my remaining change, and give the telecommunications option one more try. 48 cents. Close, but no cigar.
I went back to the store, and stole two pennies from the change plate. Score. Then I traded my loose change for two quarters, thanks to some old lady who took pity on a disheveled Russian. Back to the payphone. Drop the quarters in, dial my parents, the only number I still remember by heart.
At that point, the phone had the audacity to inform me that I had to add $0.55. Fifty five cents! I clearly could not afford this long-distance business. With hypothermia setting in, things were not looking good for ol' Stan.
Thankfully, when I went back to the back entrance, some kind soul left it open, or otherwise this story would have a very different ending. One thing for sure, I'm never leaving the place without my cellphone / keys / wallet. Ah the shackles of modern life.
As soon as I shut the front door of the apartment, I realized - uh oh - that I didn't have my keys with me. Tugging at the door handle did not change the situation for the better.
I still had my mission in front of me, so I went to the store to get the milk. I had some coins left over, so I figured I'd walk down to the nearest phone and call Susan to open the door.
It's been a while since I used one of those payphone things. It didn't help that at that point I was shivering, and probably looked very homeless with my pajama pants and a jug of milk. Needless to say, I dialed the wrong number, and the payphone happily ate my $0.50.
I reassessed the situation. Our apartment is on the third floor, so any attempts at climbing through the window / throwing objects at said window / yelling would probably be fruitless. I figured I'd count my remaining change, and give the telecommunications option one more try. 48 cents. Close, but no cigar.
I went back to the store, and stole two pennies from the change plate. Score. Then I traded my loose change for two quarters, thanks to some old lady who took pity on a disheveled Russian. Back to the payphone. Drop the quarters in, dial my parents, the only number I still remember by heart.
At that point, the phone had the audacity to inform me that I had to add $0.55. Fifty five cents! I clearly could not afford this long-distance business. With hypothermia setting in, things were not looking good for ol' Stan.
Thankfully, when I went back to the back entrance, some kind soul left it open, or otherwise this story would have a very different ending. One thing for sure, I'm never leaving the place without my cellphone / keys / wallet. Ah the shackles of modern life.
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