Locked Down Locked Out
By Eric (Discover English Teacher)
So here we are, confined to quarters like an entire city of failed mutineers in some horrible period drama. We are all of us locked in our homes. I never thought that would possibly happen. People get locked out of their homes, not locked in. It truly is a strange new world to come to terms with.
I’ve been locked out many times. Once I had to unscrew the hinges on my door to get back in. So, in the spirit of telling a mildly embarrassing and hopefully amusing story to pass the endless hours of these interminable days I thought I’d tell the story of one of the times I got locked out.
It was a few years ago now, I was travelling around Europe and I was staying with a friend in London. Her apartment was so tiny I actually had to sleep in her cupboard – I certainly developed a new-found sympathy for poor old Harry Potter.
Anyway, one morning I left the apartment to go exploring, to wander the streets in aimless fascination. As one does when travelling. It was a cold winter’s day, the streets were icy and the promise of snow filled every breath. Eventually, after a full day of walking and taking photos of obscure buildings (don’t ever ask to see my photo albums) I returned to the flat. Reaching into my pocket to get my key I found nothing but lint. I was locked out. The heavy clouds finally chose that moment to start sprinkling down their sparkling snowflakes.
No worries, mate – I’d just call my friend and she’d let me in. When I finally got a hold of her, the fingers holding my phone were red with cold, and burning. She’d gone to visit her family. She wouldn’t be back in London until the evening.
No problem, it’s easy to pass the time in London. I made my way to the nearest pub and before you could say ‘Duke of Wellington’ I was halfway through a pint. I watched the snow drift down outside the windows as I watched the empty glasses build up on the table.
After who knows how long, my friend arrived. ‘Hey!’ we exclaimed and ordered celebratory drinks. After several more, I was beginning to feel quite drunk. The barkeep rang the gong for last drinks and soon we were ushered, wobbling slightly, back into the freezing night. The snow fell steadily and we ran unsteadily to my friend’s place. She went to the door and fished for her key. But she found only lint.
Oh, damn it man! This is getting silly! It was late at night, freezing cold and we were the only people out. The world was silent, covered in snow. We were both shivering, we both needed to pee. We had to get inside.
None of the ground floor flats answered our calls, and no one peeked from the upper storey windows. Some way down the building we saw the drain pipe. It was out of a slap stick comedy and we both laughed but we had to get inside.
Anyone who has met me will know I am not the athletic type. Climbing an icy drain pipe in the snow whilst half-baked was difficult. I slipped down several times, falling heavily, giggling hysterically. After a few tries I managed to make it to the window ledges of the upper storey and slowly, slowly shuffle my way along the building towards my friend’s window. The ledge was only half as wide as my feet and covered in ice and pigeon spikes.
I made it to my friend’s window and opened it in desperate relief. When I fell inside I left puddles of melting snow everywhere. I hurried to let my friend in and, to celebrate our not having to spend the night in the snow we had a few more drinks. I feel asleep in the bottom of the cupboard and would eventually wake up with a whole lot of bruises and aches and a hellish hangover.