Apartment Follies

It seemed that everyone in NYC had a charming story about their apartment and its unique character. Either I didn't have as much patience and tolerance as most people or my stories just lacked a certain charm but it seemed mainly that my apartment stories managed only to convey a sense of annoyance and elicited a period of head-shaking and sympathy from the listener.

One such story involved the pecular locking schema attached to the front door of my apartment on 91st Street. After about 3 years there, I had noticed that the lock on the front door was a little tempermental to say the least. It would open and lock depending on how you managed to jimmy and jamie it without, fortunately, creating any permanent problems. But one weekend afternoon it exacted its revenge. It was a Sunday and I had gone out somewhere leaving my roommate's very cute friend visting from out-of-town alone in the apartment. Later in the early evening I returned and the cute friend burst out of my roommate's room and exclaimed, "I've been locked in here all afternoon!"
"Locked in?", I answered incredulously.
"I couldn't get the door to open. The knob just kept on turning."
I had noticed the knob on the front door being a little slippery lately but didn't think it would result in anything this horrific. Without another word the cute friend left the apartment, not wanting to waste this sudden moment of freedom. I watched the door close and then sat down and watched TV.

Later that evening I decided that instead of making dinner I would go get takeout. I put on shoes, tried the door and sure enough, it just kept turning. And turning. It seemed like it would drop off onto the floor and I know I didn't want that to happen. So I stopped turning. And then resumed the turning only to yield the same result. Now, I too was trapped. If only I had listened to the cute girl - maybe I wouldn't be in this jam!
"Fuck!"
I was at a loss. Clearly I couldn't blow this off and needed to do something. So I called my neighbor Jon. A friend from my days in DC I knew Jon would surely help me after he stopped laughing. Unless he was high, which was likely. I called anyway. I was right about the laughter but after it became clear that I was serious he too became annoyed and started to give me a hard time about it. He had a laundry list of reasons why he shouldn't get up off his couch and I became annoyed with him. Finally, he said, "Look, if you don't stop being obnoxious I won't come over and let you out."
Perfect. Now I was the bad guy. Clearly I needed friends who were less high maintenance. So I apologized and waited since he basically had me over a barrel.

About 20 minutes later my buzzer went off and it was Jon. I heard him shuffling up the stairs and without knocking said "Slide your key under the door and I'll open it."

I did as instructed and the anticipation was almost overwhelming. I had been officially locked in for no more than an hour and I felt like a caged animal finally being liberated from his cage. The door swung open and there was Jon, unkempt as usual in a cheesy T-Shirt, a pair of soccer shorts and Tevas. "There you go." he said with a little smile. Returning the key to me he continued with " Get the door fixed. Now I'm going back home. Seeya."
"Thanks", I responded and stared at the doorjamb as if I had some kind of mechanical ability.
I went out and got dinner hoping the door would fix itself but obviously this would not be so. When my roommate and his cute friend returned home they were of no help either. The next morning trying to leave for work the door had become an impenetrable barricade. At this point I was frusted and decided to direct my frustration at the landlord. Jo & Wo Realty, horrible slumlords of the Upper East Side. Wo (or was it Jo) told me I needed to call the Super and he would talk me out of this. Milton the Super answered my exasperation with an equally flabergasted tone "Look, do you have a screwdriver?"
"Yes."
"Well, get it!"
"Wedge it between the door and the frame and then take a sharp edged blade like a kitchenknife and use the knife to slide the lock out."
I followed his advice and the door opened. "Please get somebody over here to fix this today", I implored.
As another helpless renter with no home maintenance skills I had never felt more useless.