Locked Out

Today was not ideal.

It started out okay. I slept in (getting over a stress-induced cold), donated some old books and DVDs, knocked out a cardio session at the gym, changed my sheets, vacuumed all the floors, and finished cleaning and drying the dishes. Productive, right?

What happened next...not so productive.

My mom sent me a free week of Blue Apron meals, and I was expecting delivery today. I don't have a doorman, so I knew I needed to be home when the box arrived. I checked the tracking site. At 1:47, the status changed from "Out for Delivery" to "Delivered: Left at Front Door." Great. At 1:51, I went down to the front door. No delivery. I checked a couple more times. Nothing. I tried calling the delivery service, but I was on hold forever. So I e-mailed them. And then I called my mom to rant.

While I was ranting, I stepped outside my unit to see if there was a box. Nope. Still nothing. Well, not only was there no box, but suddenly I heard a thud behind me. My door closed. And just like that, I was locked. Out. Of. My. Apartment.

Seriously. Locked out. No key. No shoes. No coat. Thank goodness I was on the phone with my mom so at least I had my iPhone. And at least the oven wasn't on.

I said a few bad words.

My mom had a good laugh.

I called the landlord. No answer. (It is Sunday, after all.) I found the number for my super--didn't even realize I had a super--and called him. His first question: "How did you get this number?" Really, dude? You're a super. I got it from the management company. I'm not some creeper. I'm just locked out of my apartment.

Then, the kicker: "Well, I'm not sure we have a spare key for your apartment. Let me make a call. Might have to get a locksmith."

Not music to my ears.

So there I am, standing outside of my apartment, Rory meowing on the other side of the door. I wait, and wait, and wait. Finally, the super calls back. "Can you go across the street to the pizzeria to pick up the keys?"

No, I can't, because I'm not wearing shoes or a coat.

"Oh, okay. Let me call them and see if they can bring them to you." Wait for it. "You are dressed, right?"

No, I'm locked out of my apartment in my birthday suit, but I managed to remember my cell phone. Seriously? SERIOUSLY???

Less than ten minutes later, the pizza guy came and delivered a spare set of keys. I was back in, Rory was relieved, and I was exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions.

I'm sure you're all wondering if I ever got my Blue Apron delivery. I guess every story has a silver lining. I did. And I whipped up a batch of Pasta Arrabiata after my (much-needed) yoga class.

And wine. There was some wine.