The doorbell rings.
I’m in my bed with Winston and we are listening to Aly and AJ’s “Flattery.”
I have excellent taste in music.
Winston begins to bark and we make our way to the front door. I look out the peephole but it is covered.
Hmph, today is the day I get murdered I guess, I think to myself, because I’m opening the door anyway.
I pull on the handle and realize I’m stuck. I look out the window and see painters.
Ohh, today is the day they are painting the doors. They told us that with a flier that I didn’t read but Kassidy read to me.
It’s noon and I need to be out the door by 1:20 p.m. because I’m meeting Emily in Murphy, America to eat Rosas.
Murphy is about 40 minutes away and I will do anything for a beef nacho salad, I guess.
I’ll call the office to make sure I will be able to get out by 13:20 central american military chris kyle time zone.
*calls front office*
ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, answering machine
*waits 15 minutes*
*calls front office*
“Hi, how can I help you?”
“Yes, y’all are painting our doors and they taped us in so paint wouldn’t get on the floor and I can’t get out and I need out by 1:20 p.m. Is this possible?”
“Oh, yes. That shouldn’t be a problem. That’s an hour away. It just needs time to dry.”
*calls front office five times because no one is picking up*
*calls again and presses 3 because this is a maintenance emergency*
“If this is a fire, please hang up and call 911. If this is a maintenance emergency, please stay on the line.”
This is the exact definition of a maintenance emergency.
“Hello, how can I help you?”
“Yes, they are painting our front doors and they taped me in and I need out right now because I have an appointment to be to.”
(appointment sounds better than Rosas)
“They taped you in?”
“Did I stutter?”
“Hmm, I’m sorry about that. What’s your name? What building are you in?”
I hang up the phone. I look out the window to see if I can make eye contact with one of the painters so they can come save me. I see no one.
Ohh, this is bad, Winston, this is bad.
I see an office manager walking to her car. She gets in. She drives off.
Enjoy your lunch. I’ll be in my apartment with no food and four bottles of half-finished pink wine.
I’m going to have a panic attack. Being enclosed is not good for me. Elevators, road trips, airplanes, being locked in your own apartment. Today is the day I die.
My heart starts to race. I stay inside all day but knowing I can’t get out starts to make me nervous.
I text Emily to tell her I’m a prisoner in my own home.
She tells me to just open the door. I didn’t think of that.
I forcefully open the door. Winston tries to go out to go potty. I tell him we don’t have time for that.
I close the door. There is tape on the lock and handle. I can’t lock the door behind me.
I have to lock the door. What if someone comes in and steals a bottle of pink wine or Winston.
I begin to peel off the tape. The paint is not dry. The orange paint is not dry. Paint is all over my fingers.
I lock the door. I get in my car and touch the steering wheel. Orange paint is everywhere but I don’t have time to go back inside and wash my hands. Rosas is waiting for me.
I drive 22 miles with one hand.
I arrive at Rosas. I head straight to the bathroom to wash off the paint. Orange paint is going down the drain. It looks like the baby giraffe died in my hands.
I sit down. I eat Rosas.
I now live in a UT dorm room that hasn’t been remodeled since the 70s.
|actual photo evidence of my front door i wish i was kidding.|