On why I'm a really good problem-solver and how it's all Sam Champion's fault.

So, there was this one time that I accidentally locked myself inside my own apartment. To be fair, it totally wasn’t my fault and it was obviously someone else’s fault. Let’s blame the lock. Because, for real, what lock just breaks inside of itself on a random Wednesday?

Also, it should be noted that I thought that I maybe locked myself into my apartment again this morning and started to panic–text my boyfriend about how insane it was that I could lock myself into my own apartment twice in one lifetime before I realized that I really just hadn’t unlocked the door. But whatever. That’s a digression that totally has nothing to do with the story where I actually locked myself inside of my apartment.

Anyway, I was leaving for work one morning and I was struggling to get out the door on time because I was probably busy watching Sam Champion dreamily give me today’s weather and I spent too much time staring and not enough time packing up my stuff for the day. And so let’s just say I was rushing.

"I’m dreamy and keep fully functioning adults from getting out the door on time in the morning. Also, I say Chicagoland and it makes Becky giggle every time I say it."

Moving on.

I think it’s important to mention here that I’ve lived in the same apartment for 9 years. So, the door and I had a long-standing history of getting along just fine and really just having the give and take relationship that residents and their doors enjoy on a daily basis. But all of a sudden I’m pulling and pulling and nothing’s happening! Keeping my cool in typical Becky fashion, I started to sweat and tug at the door harder (because I have a habit of failing at something and trying the exact same thing over and over and expecting a different result.)

Finally, I took a moment, breathed, and stared at the door. And that’s when I noticed that the deadbolt had broken in half (seriously??) inside the lock and was just sitting there all broken and not moving so that I couldn’t get out.

Using my rational problem-solving skills, I first figured it’d make total sense to just go out and down the fire escape. You know, because that’d definitely solve the problem and wouldn’t at all bring in a whole new host of problems when I was trying to, I don’t know, come home and sleep inside later.

Then I decided that a more logical solution would be to leave a rambling message on the emergency answering machine of the management company who owns my building.

What’s that, you say? It’s strange that an “emergency” line would require you to leave a message instead of getting an actual person? Yeah, funny how that works.

So, while I was waiting for my emergency call to be answered in the order in which it was received, I texted my not-yet-boyfriend and, though it was a while ago now, I’m pretty sure the conversation went something like this:

Me: “I just locked myself into my apartment!”

Not Boyfriend: “You’re beautiful and smart and I hope we date someday.”

Me: “I know, I know, but in the meantime, can you help me?”

Not Boyfriend: “I’ll try, but it’s so hard because I’m distracted by how awesome you are and how no other girl compares to you."

Me: “I appreciate the compliments and we can discuss this in depth later, but in the meantime, any advice?”

Also, this is maybe how the next part of the conversation went:

Not Boyfriend: “Seriously? What is wrong with you?”

Me: “Not helpful.”

Not Boyfriend: “Do you have a screwdriver?”

Me: “Yes!”

Not Boyfriend: “Ok, unscrew the deadbolt from the door. And then, you know, open the door.”

Me: “You’re a genius!”

Not Boyfriend: “I do what I can.” (and also I really hope we date soon so that I'm obligated to answer text messages like this all the time!)

I have a long history of being a really good decision-maker. I went on a 3 week excursion to Europe when I was 18 and brought one pair of shoes. And by shoes, I mean sandals. And wore them in the Swiss Alps. This was the result. Also, I had killer bangs.