A few weeks ago this happened…

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The doorknob came off the door. In the bathroom. When I was on my way back to work from lunch.

The doorknob came off the door. In the bathroom. When I was on my way back to work from lunch.

I don’t even know how to tell this story, but it is single handedly one of the most ridiculous things that I have ever done to myself and I feel like I need to share it with the world. Or the people who read this blog. Samius and Mom, I know you’re totally reading this right now. Except mom already knows that happened because I called her while I was locked in the bathroom. Lots of other people know this happened too because I Facebooked it while it was happening.

So what happened?

Well, I locked myself in the bathroom.

How did it happen though?

Through pure forgetfulness and the fact that I’m lazy. The night before my dad and I got into a fight that kind of went like this:

Dad: Rai!

Me: What?!

Dad: Don’t say “what”! Come here!

Me: Ok!

Dad: Don’t say “ok” and just lay there! Get in here!

Me: What is it?!

Dad: Come look!

Dad was in the bathroom and he had been in there for more than a couple minutes so I was a little weary of going into the bathroom. I have a fascination with bodily functions and I had to have gotten it from somewhere. My dad, in this case, was the most likely candidate because he was yelling at me to come look at something in the bathroom.

Me: What is it?!

Dad: Just come look!

Me: No! Tell me what it is first!

Dad: Fine! Don’t look! Don’t come crying to me when something bad happens to you!

At that point, I figured I should just get off my lazy ass and go look. Dad was yelling at me for a reason (this time) and I was sure it was a good reason. Not that he wanted to show me something gross. Or get mad at me because he pulled my hair out of the bathroom drain. Or that I had done something gross and he wanted to get mad at me for it.

What he showed me was the back part of our bathroom door knob broken off from the rest of the door. After 23 years of use, and probable abuse, the doorknob at finally broken. Except the only part that was broken was the part that would allow you to escape the bathroom after taking a most prodigious poop that was threatening to choke you with its stink and no amount of air freshener could make the smell go away. In fact, you probably would poison yourself with air freshener trying to cover the smell before you actually got rid of the stink. Yeah, what my dad showed me meant that if this were to ever happen to me, it would mean my death.

After a quick discussion, my dad and I both decided that a closed bathroom door meant that the door was locked. Dad yelled the results of this discussion to my mom who was in the kitchen and could probably hear us.

Well, after all of this I forgot that the doorknob was broken. The next day I was home alone for lunch and seeing that it was almost time to go back to work, I wandered into the bathroom to do my after lunch business. Out of habit I shut and locked the door behind myself.

At that point I was locked in my bathroom. The upside was that I had my cellphone with me because I was leaving for work. The downside was the fact that I got no cell reception in my bathroom. I wound up posting my shenanigans on Facebook because there was nothing else I could do and after 15 minutes of being locked up, I was bored. I also had to tell one of the girls I worked with to tell my supervisor that I was going to be late coming back from lunch. I was also looking for someone to come let me out.

I tried to crawl out my bathroom window, but found that that while this worked when I was in my early teens, but didn’t work in my mid-twenties because my boobs are like a gazillion times bigger than they were when I was 14. However, when I tried to escape through my window, I found that I got one blessed little bar of cell reception and called my mom to ask for help.

It was then she reminded me that I could go out the door that led into her room. Except that it was blocked by shelving thing and it was kind of heavy and would require that I make a mess that I knew I wouldn’t clean up because I was late getting back to work. And because I’m lazy. Moms next suggestion was to use a knife, if I had one, to jig the door open.

Setting myself free with a throwing knife that I happened to have on hand.

Setting myself free with a throwing knife that I happened to have on hand.

Of course I had a knife. My house is a nice house like that. We usually have something lying in a place that it shouldn’t be. Like a three inch throwing knife that I shoved in a make-up bag the last time that I cleaned the bathroom. It was in the bathroom because I used it to kill a mouse at some point in my teens because our cat had a bad habit of brining mice into the house to play with before she killed them. Except my sister and I would usually wind up having to catch and kill them.

After some jiggling with my little throwing knife, I was free! I got to rush off to work and prepare for the teasing that I was going to get when dad got home and I had to tell him what I’d done.

P.S. For more daily tangents, follow me on twitter!

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