We were welcomed into our home with a gift bag from our friendly, perpetually dry, upstairs neighbors Mark and Becky, who not only gave us chocolate, but wrote us a three-page note detailing our frustrating experience.
|Like we don't remember, Mark and Becky|
|This must be the picture where I put the camera on self-timer and then ran into the wall,|
causing Adrienne to fall into an unnecessary fit of laughter
|Sentimental picture SUCCESS|
The very first order of business was walking on our new carpet without making a squishing sound and then laying down on it while not getting wet. I hardly recognized the scent of the place. It smelled like air. Pure, not-damp, free of black mold, air. Air that gave us life instead of implanting spores in our lungs that would slowly kill us. Ahhhh, it's the little things.
My apartment key was sadly a casualty of the flood, so I left our gloriously new apartment unlocked before I journeyed to work. When I returned home that night, I was greeted with a knob that wouldn't turn and a door that wouldn't budge.
But this couldn't be! I knew I had left the door unlocked. I had checked it twice, even. Immediately, a sense of betrayal washed over me like the Colorado flood.
Why apartment, why? After all of these months, through which my promise to return to you never faltered, do you lock me out now when I specifically told you not to?
I knew i hadn't locked the door, I was almost positively certain. Perhaps my landlady had stopped by to make sure we had moved everything into our apartment from 5A, noticed the door was unlocked, and then locked it herself. That must be the case! I was almost positively certain of it!
I alerted the main parties in the lockout case. My sister asserted she hadn't been home since Sunday night, the neighbor had been at work and hadn't seen anything, and my landlady hadn't stopped by either. And I knew none of them believed my "It was unlocked and now it's locked!" story.
"That sucks!" said my sister.
"Have some tea," said my neighbor.
"Haha, that's so strange!" said my landlady, who had previously been my prime suspect in the lockout case.
"That'll be $50," said emergency lockout services.
The locksmith arrived and let me in.
"Oo! Was it deadbolted?" I exclaimed, sensing a breakthrough. The door can only be deadbolted with a key from the outside, which would mean that someone else had locked it.
"Nope," the locksmith said gruffly.
My hopes and dreams sank, much like our carpet had when it was drenched in floodwaters two months ago. I thanked the locksmith, but I gave him a look to let him know I was going to get to the bottom of this. It was dark out, so I don't think he saw it, but I'm sure he felt it.
I moseyed into my apartment and sat on the dry carpet that apparently didn't want me to be there. After some quality moping time, I walked into the bathroom to continue being said. Oh the things I could have done with fifty dollars, like have it in my bank account, I thought. Then, I looked in the mirror and noticed something strange.
|Shout out to Makenna Wesner for giving me an Alaskan flag|
that conveniently doubles as half of a shower curtain
Right! But it shouldn't! Yesterday, we were missing a toilet paper holder and a shower rod, and then magically today, we have those things. This means the contractors were here during the day, which means they locked the door while I was at work, which means I didn't lock myself out of the apartment, the contractors did, and my apartment still loves me!
BOOM! Sherlock HOMED.
I should have known. It's always the person who isn't even on the suspect list.
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