The Third Worst Night of My Life

One night last year I stepped onto my balcony to have a cigarette. It was about ten o'clock and forty degrees, so I smoked fast. Then the worst thing ever happened. I pulled in vain on the door handle, and my mind flashed back to the night before when I decided to lock that door for literally the first time ever.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I scanned my surroundings for possible entry points and anything that could be useful in breaking in, but my home proved tragically burglar proof. I looked to my neighbors for help, but both of their places were dark. I started to realize just how fucked I really was. For a second I thought about just jumping. I mean, it was all over for me anyway.

That's when I saw the light on the balcony directly below me. I tossed down my shoe to get their attention, but they must not have noticed. I threw down the other one and again got no response. My last hope was a gorilla-gargoyle I had chilling in the corner. When it shattered on their balcony, the couple came out to save the day.

Unfortunately, my front door was also locked so they couldn't just come up and let me in that way. So they called a locksmith for me. But the locksmith had to get their guy on call since it was late. And he had to get up, get dressed, and drive in from, like, the farthest away suburb there is. So you know, just sit tight Marie.

And there I sat. Wearing sweat pants, the boyfriend's track jacket, and no shoes. In near freezing temperature. For just over an hour. I curled myself into a little ball and managed to stuff most of my body into the track jacket. But by the end of it, I was so cold my skin was aching and I seriously couldn't feel most of my toes. When I finally saw the locksmith guy walking through my living room toward me, I think I heard angels singing a little bit.