An Episode in the Bathroom

In the kitchen the pledge drive blares and these sad stack of magazines sitting next to the toilette have been thumbed through too many times. I think to myself that magazines really are a fickle creature. I think what do these magazines say about me? But mostly I'm hoping that Gonzo will be coming home soon.

Quick back story: While going through the morning routine of general hygiene Gonzo noticed that the deadbolt on the bathroom door had popped out and when the latch was turned it wouldn't move the deadbolt forward or backwards.

That was the thought that hit my brain as I slammed the bathroom door shut. Not the first time when I tried to close the door and it wouldn't shut but more as I nailed the door with a well placed swoop kick and there was a violent clang as the deabolt sang home

And then there were the next thirty minutes. My cell phone rang in the other room in what I could only surmise was Gonzo calling to say that she and some of the other wedding revelers were going out for a quick drink and that if I wanted to I should join them. I begin to think of who would come and find me. I could be in here for days.

My only comfort is that if I did have my cell phone I would most likely be in here for the same amount of time; who is going to believe that been stuck in a bathroom. A similar thing happened to me once when I ran out of gas on the highway. Life still does have some good irony. I think you have to respect that.

Mercifully, Gonz finally comes home. She of course tries to turn the handle and then throw her body against the door.

She passes me tools under the door, however after breaking the latch on the deadbolt and finding the hinges on the door to have been painted and unusable my level of confidence that I'll ever leave this bathroom is sinking.

Gonzo goes and grabs the Super who we quickly discover knows about as much in the ways of springing me as I do. His first sage like advice is to ask me if I've tried turning the latch. When this fails he tells me to remove the hinges and when I tell him they're painted shut I hear him move off to other hinges in the house to find out if they really are unmovable. Being a guy myself, I know that he has now turned to page 15 in the Great Book of Guy: After not being able to fix the original problem Guy will move around the residence until he is able to fix something, thus proving his masculinity.

I removed the faceplate from the back of the door, taking off 80 years of lead based paint along with it. Inside I can't see any mechanism as there is an obstruction of a blocked piece of wood. The Super goes downstairs trying to call the building owner and Gonzo is looking at me through the hole where the doorknob was.

Are you naked? She asks me. I had been in the shower. Along with not bringing in cell phones or accessories of that ilk my showering system is often in-out-done… none of this fancy stuff like: deep cleansers or body oils or fancy hair product. I've wrapped myself up in a towel, but now that the super hasn’t been able to magically make the door open, I begin to wonder how many people will be called in to bust me out and see me in my full glory. I should be doing push-ups or something.

I'm explaining all this to Gonzo and how I can't get the stupid deadbolt to turn. I've been jamming my flathead screwdriver into the deadbolts hole and then grabbing onto the pliers and pulling it as hard as I can but still nothing is happening. Now while I talk to Gonzo, I hit the mechanism then turn.

And then, finally, it worked.