Eugie Foster (eugie) wrote,
Eugie Foster

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Weekend Before Christmas: Adventures in Lock Picking

Thanks for all the slaps on the back re: the Ursula K. Le Guin cover blurb for Returning My Sister's Face, everyone! I am still in a squeeful daze 'bout it.

The balmy autumnal weather we've been having in Georgia has come to an end, and now we're feeling the wintry pain of everyone else in the country. And I am reminded—not that I needed it—that I really, really don't like the cold. But I'm glad the freeze snap hit yesterday rather than earlier in the weekend 'cause we had to spend a couple hours outside on Friday afternoon.

fosteronfilm and I were heading out to finish up our Christmas shopping. Ahead of me in the garage, Matthew suddenly turns, his hand in his pocket.

"Wait, do you have your—"



Yep, that "*click*" was the sound of the house-to-garage door shutting…and locking. And, no, I didn't have my keys.

We debated whether it would be cheaper to break a window or call a locksmith, but in the end decided that a locksmith was the way to go. Especially as we weren't sure whether fixing a window could be done in a timely fashion, and having a broken window during winter seemed like a particularly bad idea.

There was an old phone book in the garage—slated for recycling, but because we are less-than-conscientious about such things, it hadn't been hauled to the curb yet—which we used to look up a locksmith. We picked one with a big ad that promised "15-minute emergency response."

We called, talked to the dispatcher who told us to expect a callback from the locksmith shortly, and settled down to wait. Twenty minutes later, we called then again. This time, the locksmith called right back and told us he was on the way. "'Bout 20 minutes." Forty-five minutes later, we called again. "Caught in traffic," he said.

Well over an hour after we first called, he pulls up. At that point, I didn't care about the wait. I was just gladdened by the prospect of being able to get into our house again.

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to pick the lock.

It seems we had a really good lock on our garage door. And it wasn't even the deadbolt (since we didn't have keys to finish locking the door), just the knob lock. And yes, "had" past tense, as in, since he couldn't pick it, he had to drill it. I guess technically we still have the lock, but it's in pieces and sitting on our washing machine in a little metal pile.

And for the final "wah!" in our afternoon of wah-ness, the bottom line ended up being $230.00—which we really don't have to spare—for getting us into our house as well as replacing the sad little pile of metal on our washing machine with a shiny, new lock. (Which now gives us three house keys to juggle: the two that we had before that still fit our other doors, and this new one.)



Writing Stuff

New Words:
• 900 on The Stupid Novel.


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