Normally, this weekly section of the newspaper would contain some gross, and hopefully amusing generalizations and observations about the absurdness of the world around us. And I’m sure next week, this column will return to form. But this time, I’ve got a more interesting and personal story to tell.
Due to some almost random technical difficulties, I was up late on Wednesday night working on the new, improved website. At around 1:45 am, I finally realized that enough was enough, I was exhausted, and staying in the office longer would only frustrate me. I grabbed all of my things, checked and double checked to make sure I had my keys and my wallet, turned off the lights, and locked the door behind me.
Somewhere in my sleep befuddled and preoccupied brain (I was thinking, as I recall, that even upon returning home, I still had to read Metamorphosis, a daunting task at that hour of the morning) a logic was formed that if I left Brown Hall through the hallway by the fitness rooms, I’d be that much closer to Omega and therefore “home”. I quickly made my way to the double doors, only to discover, to my horror, that they were locked.
I turned around and, just as I expected, discovered that yes, the other door had locked behind me when it closed. I was locked into the tiny little hallway, at two o’clock in the morning.
My first instinct was, of course, to panic. What if I couldn’t get out? I’d have to stay there all night, and let me tell you, its not exactly the most cozy place on campus to be stuck. My next instinct was to try the key to the newspaper office on the various doors that surrounded me. Mind you, I didn’t actually expect it to work, but I had lucked out over the summer when I’d accidentally locked myself out of the house where I was house sitting, and was willing to try for that luck again. Of course, it didn’t work.
It never occurred to me to try the key in the deadbolt on the double doors.
Next I tried using my student ID card to jimmy the lock, but alas, that method must take more finesse than I have. I nearly broke my student ID card, but the door wasn’t any nearer to being open.
Finally, I turned to the phone. I stared at it for a long moment, with the fear that I didn’t know the number for security. I’d never bothered to memorize it after all. Fortunately, my memory works a lot better than I give it credit for in an emergency situation, and I got the number right. I doubt I could tell you what it is now, however.
Security was just as dumbfounded as I was. The officer who answered the phone had me confirm, in very helpful though obviously tired tones, that yes, every door in the hallway was locked except the ones to the bathroom and to the utilities closet, and no, there was no way out through the bathroom or utilities closet. Finally, he asked for my name, and assured me that someone would be right over.
I will forever regret not having checked my key on those double doors, as they would have saved me having to justify, if not necessarily to the security guard, then to myself, that certain stereotypes about hysterical females may be true: if there is an obvious answer, they won’t find it.
Which is not, mind you, to say that I was hysterical. I wasn’t. I was just really, really unhappy with my situation.
The security guard pulled up rather quickly, and unlocked the double doors for me. He then very helpfully pointed out that the little knob on the door that I had been convinced was just a key hole was in fact a way to unlock the double doors from the inside. I thanked him, gathered up what little dignity I had left, and made my way back across campus to my dorm, laughing at my own ignorance.
And that is why this writer will not be making fun of security again. Well, not for awhile, at least.
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