I Say the Sooth!

So, keys in Russia are kinda cool.  Lookit this thing:

It's my favorite key in the world. It looks like an old timey-time key and I love it. It's fun to use, and I like hearing the echo of the lock turning in our depressing, dimly lit hallway outside.

Any minute the lights are going to flicker out and a Bent-Neck Lady will drop from the ceiling.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago I had trouble turning the key. The thought that something was wrong with the lock and the key would get stuck and Simon and I would be stranded in the wilds of our apartment complex briefly flashed through my mind. I struggled a few seconds longer, leaning against the door just the way it needed for the lock to turn.

Relief!

BUT THEN

The next morning when Ian was leaving and trying to turn the key, he too had problems with it before finally unlocking the door.

We cursed the lock, frustrated. It had always been a little tricky, but over the past few uses it was extra ridiculous. We both made a mental note to let our landlord know about it.

So, la la la, I left the apartment (locking the bolts with perfect ease!) to pick up Simon from school, got back upstairs, turned the key aaaaaand...

...You guys are smart. You know what foreshadowing is...

Obviously it got stuck.

I struggled with it for fifteen minutes while Simon worried, "We'll just have to be trapped here forever!"

"No, no, buddy. It will be okay, I'm trying my best to get it open." *muttered under my breath* "TURN YOU LOCK, JUST DO IT. IT'S ALL YOU DO! PLEASE TURN."

Up to that point the key could turn over one of the four turns it takes to lock/unlock that bolt. It would get stuck, and then I'd turn it back, wiggle the key out and try again.

Well, suddenly I couldn't get the key out. My fear from the day before was now a reality. We were locked out of the apartment. I didn't have my purse with me, so no wallet. No wallet, no rubles. No rubles meant I couldn't take Simon to the shop downstairs to buy him some lunch. He was very hungry and sad.

I called Ian. He called our landlord. They were both on our way to rescue us.

Simon wasn't up for going downstairs to the playground and said he'd feel better if we just waited in the hallway. I sat on the floor and hugged him on my lap. He was upset that we'd have to wait "forever", so I told him to shut his eyes and take a little rest while we waited to make the time go faster. He did.

Nobody cried.

No, really. Nobody cried. We both just kind of accepted the situation and sat there together, waiting it out.

Our landlord made it over in just twenty minutes, and Ian arrived soon after. The key was definitely  stuck, the lock was definitely jammed, and the door was definitely not going to come off the hinges. A locksmith would have to be called.

The three of us left our landlord to it and went downstairs to play on the little playground in our courtyard. 

But first, we had to get ice cream.

"Well of course," you say, "That's so stressful. Definitely get ice cream."

And I say, "Oh, for sure, but get this: Simon didn't want any."

I KNOW. IT IS HIS MOST MAJOR FOOD GROUP AND WE WERE SHOCKED.

He was just tired and hungry and stressed and in a post-nap fog.

What had happened was: Earlier when I was walking him home from school he had asked if he could have ice cream. I told him of course he could if he finished all his lunch. He said he would, and we decided on a meal. He wanted oatmeal (YES I KNOW) and applesauce and milk.

So now, here we were, locked out, unable to provide him with any of the foods he wanted to eat, offering him his most favorite thing, ice cream, to be eaten first AND as the entirety of his lunch, and he would. Not. Have it.

He kept crying and crying that he had to eat his lunch first. We kept telling him it was okay and this was a special circumstance and he could absolutely have chocolate ice cream RIGHT FLIPPING NOW BUT YOU GUYS HE JUST KEPT INSISTING HE DIDN'T WANT ANY UNTIL AFTER HE ATE HIS LUNCH. WE HAVE APPARENTLY DONE TOO GOOD A JOB MAKING SURE HE EATS WELL BEFORE HE HAS DESSERT.

Suddenly, though, the post-nap fog must have lifted because in a drastic mood swing, he was suddenly chipper and fine and said, "Okay! Let's go get ice cream!"

Some of you may be wondering why we didn't just go find a store or a restaurant, a McDonanld's maybe as there is one right across the street from us, to provide Simon with an actual meal or something. I will refer you to my previous post about Simon's eating habits as of late

The rest of you know what's up, so let's continue.

We got ice cream. We played in our courtyard. A meddling lady directly approached Simon and fussed with his shirt sleeves right in front of me, rolling up the cuffs so they wouldn't get dirty in the sand. I wanted to explain dirty shirt cuffs were the least of our worries right now, but obviously I couldn't, and I didn't have the energy anyhow.

Thank goodness for the unseasonably warm weather. It was sixty degrees and a very pleasant day to be outside. We did eventually head over to McDonald's to get a snack, but mostly to use the bathroom, as we had now been locked out for a little over three hours. Simon (thankfully) ate apple slices, and actually decided on his own to try a french fry, which he immediately spat out (I KNOW).

A little while after we were told they had finally got the door open and we could go inside. The locksmith was back the next evening to install a new lock.

All fixed! Hooray!

I can only hope that all future mishaps include ice cream and french fries.