avocado8

A Philadelphia Story

I just related this story to Al over the phone, and he remarked that it was a good Philly story, so I decided to repeat it here. Two things are necessary to know before I start my story: (1) We live in a relatively safe neighborhood in Center City, but we assumed that the house came with an alarm system and the sliding glass door to the deck had a broom handle wedged into it for a reason (namely, security). Al usually locks the front door when he leaves in the morning, and I usually lock it when I come and go during the day. (2) Our TV is on the fritz AGAIN, and the TV repair guys were here from about 1:30 to 2pm today. The lead guy brought my claim ticket up to where I was working on the second floor when they were done; I didn't see them out.

OK, so now the story: After I finished up what I was doing on the 2nd floor, I went down to the living room to look out at the tomato plants to see how they were doing. They didn't look like they needed watering just yet, and some of them were growing really big. I started to wonder when we might get our first tomatoes, so I lifted the broom handle out of the sliding glass door track and stood it on end, slid open the door, closed it behind me, and went out on the deck to check the seed packets for harvest dates. As I grabbed the first seed packet, I heard a clunk.

I walked back to the door, where I could no longer see the broom handle standing up. I tried the door, which didn't budge. "Oh, FUCK!" I said, rather loudly. Yep, the broom handle had fallen... right back into its burglar-proof position in the door track. "I can't believe I just did that! Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could I be so stupid?"

"Fuck!"

Just then I heard a man's voice say, "Did you lock yourself out?" I looked across the alley that our deck overhangs, and spotted him in a window above me: cigarette in hand, bandana around head. One of the guys working on renovating the flat behind us. "Yeah," I said. "Do you have your keys?" he said. "No, but keys aren't the problem. There's a bar that keeps the door from being opened, and it fell back into position when I came out." He thought about this for a second, while I looked over the railing at my options. Too far to jump.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked him. "No, but I'll get it for you," he replied. He was gone for a few seconds, then returned to report that it was 2:20. "Well, shit," I said. "My husband won't be home for three hours, and it's too far to jump." He kind of chuckled, ruefully rather than nastily, I thought, and said, "that's a long time to wait." I was on the verge of asking him if he had a cell phone with which to call Al when an idea occurred to me. "The front door might be unlocked."

"Do you want me to go around and check?" he asked, stubbing out his cigarette. I said sure, if he didn't mind. "No problem," he said. "What's the number?" I gave him our house number, and he disappeared from the window. For the next 60 seconds, I prayed that the TV guys hadn't turned the lock on the door handle on their way out, which they've done before, and that the construction guy wasn't a murderer or a rapist in his off hours. I barely had time to get all my praying done before I saw my bandana-clad rescuer inside, trying to open the door. I pointed at the broom handle, which he lifted. The door slid back easily. "THANKS!" I said. "No problem," he said again. "Good thing you heard me swearing out there!" He smiled and said it was hard to miss. I thanked him again, and he dashed out. This time I followed and locked the door.

I went back to look out the sliding glass door again, and saw him up by the window, back at work. Indeed, it would have been hard not to hear me swearing. It's times like these that I'm glad I live in a city, that the view from our back deck is the side of a building, that said building is being renovated, and that occasionally, you can actually feel the brotherly love. Dudes, you can block my driveway with your truck any time.