Over our labor day weekend, Mack and I decided to go up to my parents’ place on Lopez Island. Have you ever heard of the majestic place of wonderment known as Lopez Island? Usually whenever I mention to non-northwestern people Lopez Island I tend to get a look of “were you dropped on your head as a child?” in response.
I wasn’t so much as dropped on my head as slipped on the tiles and cracked my head open. At Lopez, ironically enough! But that is another story entirely (and explains so much about me).
My parents bought the house back in 1989 when I was still in pre-school. I remember going up to Lopez with my parents as they looked for the weekend house and the first time I laid my eyes on the house. In a typical four year-old fashion, I was impressed with the new Barbie doll they had on the table in there and instantly wanted one myself. Please, oh please, tell me the Barbie doll was part of the deal. No? Well, you might still tempt me but you could sweeten the deal with the Barbie!
Remember, I was four years old.
The house (if you call it a “cabin” Mom will yell at you since, according to her, a cabin typically doesn’t have indoor plumbing and don’t call her house a damn cabin) holds lots of fond memories for me (head injury withstanding). For years my parents had a pool up there too which, unfortunately, after us not going there for a year or so went back to nature and became a wildlife newt preserve. It has since been filled in, much to my disappointment.
Anyway, back to the Labor Day story. I had missed Lopez since I moved away three years ago and decided that this three day weekend was the weekend I’d introduce Mack to part of my childhood and a new host of phobias and fears he had no idea I had. If not for Lopez how would he know I have an extreme fear of looking out the door windows at night and thinking someone might be looking in? That the thought alone makes me tense up and almost hyperventilate?
Good times. Anyway…
Friday we headed up to the islands after a quick stop by my parents place to pick up my brothers copy of the house key…
(Remember this point since it will be relevant in a few minutes. The house key. As in singular key. As in ONE key.)
… and after catching the ferry and an all around uneventful trip up there, we relax Friday night, surf the television, fight some spiders approximately the size of a Chihuahua and relax. Oh my gosh have I mentioned the relaxing? We were thoroughly enjoying being away from it all in the dark silence of the nothing-ness which surrounds my parents house (not cabin).
Until Saturday morning.
When we wake up, I’m bursting with energy wanting to show Mack why I had been bragging about Lopez for all these years and see if it lived up to all my boasting in his eyes. First thing I want him to see is the view from outside the main level door since, seriously, this view is worth seeing. I mean, before we do anything else like eat or put on regular clothes. There is a field and you can see the beach in the distance and seriously Mack, step outside and see the view! So together we go outside to see the view and as I lead the way the door shuts behind us. Pretty sure Mack closed it. Just being responsible.
“I sincerely hope that the door knob wasn’t locked,” I joke— thinking weakly that we couldn’t possibly be that stupid. Right?
Wrong.
Not only is the door locked but every window is locked. And the other doors? Yeah, locked. Together, the two of us, in our pajamas, scope out the house and try all the windows and see if there are any spare keys since ha ha, this is really funny but there has to be a back up plan, right? RIGHT?
Starting to realize this is all some sort of huge cosmic joke, Mack and I step away from the house and kind of stare at it unsure of how to proceed. At this point our neighbors who were up for the weekend working on their vacation place come over and are like, hey, we’re the neighbors and holy batman! Are you little Annie?! Yup! One and the same. Like my PJ’s? I swiped these items from various family members at one point or another and wow, is this awkward or what?
Mack and I decide that perhaps we should try the second story door which means he has to hoist his girlfriend up there to reach the door frame, which sticks out about two inches from said door. To add to this fun puzzle there is the element of a) the girlfriend is afraid of heights and b) there is a very active hornets nest inside some sort of box right beneath the door.
(As a side note I guess I should add that my parents are currently in the middle of re-doing their house, after a fashion. The main door—that used to be used—is actually on the second level of the house. There used to be a deck and stairs that led up to it but that all got knocked down due to a termite problem and so the second level has a door which drop down a floor to nothing-ness. They also have random door on the third floor which will go to an eventual patio but right now is pretty much leading to a broken leg on your part, should you use it).
After the hoisting was done and we found, again, that we had locked that door after launching three spiders through it last night and we were still pretty much screwed. At this point the neighbor, who noticed the problem was still very much sucking, offered us his cellphone to attempt to call our other neighbors who lived there part time and might potentially have a key. Only problem is that this is Lopez. Huh? Pretty much NO cell reception there unless you’re Canadian. His suggestion was to walk on the trail through the woods to the beach where there was, fortunately, cell reception to be had.
So here Mack and I are, in pairs of borrowed flip-flops, tromping through the woods, laughing at the world to keep ourselves from crying or screaming at something as we attempt to call the neighbors to see if they had spare keys. Unfortunately for us, they didn’t pick up. Nor did my parents. Going back to the neighbor we decided to try again with the house and see if we could find any other method of getting in.
I won’t really go into all the specifics but there was a plank that had small boards primitively nailed onto it and there was climbing to the third story door to see if it was unlocked. Yes, we tried everything. At this point in the day, I’m starting to get semi-hystical since if I don’t eat within an hour of waking up you know what happens to me? I get sick to my stomach. So Mack and I once again go over to the neighbors house asking if he knows if they have a locksmith on the island. Unsure, he suggests we try calling (borrowing the cell once again… and hiking to the beach, again) the one hardware/construction store on the island.
This is, seriously, how the conversation between Mack (as I stood holding a pencil and a spare piece of wood borrowed from the neighbor as we’re standing by the beach in our fucking pajamas) and the store employee went:
Employee: [name of store], how can I help you?
Mack: Hello, I was curious if you know if there is a locksmith on the island?
Employee: Ha, unfortunately not on this island. There is one on Friday Harbor [hour ferry ride away]. Hey! Business opportunity!
Mack: While that is an awesome suggestion we’re actually locked out now as in no means of transportation and kind of stuck with NO KEYS thus needing a LOCKSMITH and not business opportunity ideas at this moment.
Defeated, we once again march back through the woods to the neighbors and enough is enough, we’re breaking the door knob one way or another to get in.
I guess at this point I should tell you that door knobs with locks are surprisingly resilient. You peal away the layers of metal and they simply do not want to unlock! No matter how many layers you take out, including the pins and springs—basically have it so you can see inside the fucking door and it’s inner workings—and it still will not unlock.
At that point I told Mack to kick the damn door in. My figuring? The splintered wood on the inside on the whole would be less than the cost of me throwing a brick through the window since I WAS AT THAT POINT. Two kicks later after two and a half hours outside we were back in the house and ready to roll. Mack liked to call it home improvement, when all was said and done, since the new door knob we bought didn’t have a lock and thus improved the home.
I guess the lesson learned is always have a spare key hidden somewhere. Anywhere. Also, don’t go outside in your pajamas, especially if there are people around who can see you in said pajamas.
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