On the Lighter Side of Things: Lockout Night Drama

Imagine this: we've been in England for just four days, and already, we've had quite the escapade. It all started innocently enough with a surprise visit from our zone leader, Elder Sloan, who happens to be our neighbor in this apartment building. My husband Greg had just returned from an exhausting gym session, all set to enjoy a soothing shower and slip into some fresh clothes. But destiny had other plans.

A knock on the door introduced us to Elder Sloan, who stopped by to gather some information, but ended up hijacking our evening plans. He suggested we carpool to church with Elder and Sister Oliver and invited us for a quick visit to their apartment in our very building. Now, the twist? We left our cozy apartment, making sure we carried our apartment key. Greg, the gym warrior, was still clad in his sweaty workout gear, and yours truly, in a stroke of genius, had slipped into house slippers.

We ventured into the Oliver's den thinking it'd be a brief encounter. But oh, how wrong we were. As we chatted away the hours, our return to our apartment was met with a cold shoulder from our Door Fob. It decided that we weren't allowed back in, no matter how much we pleaded. Several attempts and a hike back to the Oliver's later, we decided it was time to call in the big guns.

Our knight in shining armor, Kimberly, the facilities manager, tried her hand at coaxing the stubborn door. She even brought her master fob to all the remote keyless entry systems the Church rents in the building, thinking it would surely do the trick. It didn't. Kimberly and her husband, Michael, even joined the battle, but alas, the door remained firmly locked.

With no other option, Kimberly initiated an SOS to the apartment management and requested an emergency repair. We waited, perched on the hard corridor floor just outside our door, envisioning a bedtime by 10:00 PM, but we were in for a cruel twist of fate.

After several fruitless attempts to get an accurate "estimated time of arrival," Kimberly remembered an empty apartment on the 6th floor, flat 76, that had comfier seating. So, we rode an elevator to the sixth floor and settled into #76, thinking we'd finally catch a break.

As Kimberly's phone battery dwindled to single digits, the building management kept reassuring us that someone was "on the way." At around midnight, we received the cold, hard truth - no savior was en route tonight. Kimberly made futile attempts to secure a hotel for the night, but luck wasn't on our side.

But our newfound refuge had its quirks - a leaky toilet and a bed with no bedding. We insisted that Kimberly and Michael head home for phone chargers and a supply of pillows and blankets, and after some reluctance, they agreed. We lay on the couch and a makeshift mattress, hoping for a miracle. Hours ticked away, and hope dwindled.

With our faith hanging by a thread, we passed the time in #76, slipping in and out of sleep.

At 1:30 am, my phone rang, it was Kimberly asking us to come to her house to sleep and an Uber was waiting outside the building to take us there. In the morning, we were told that there wasn’t much food in their house for breakfast because they don’t eat breakfast but how does rice cakes and peanut butter sound?

It was Sunday, the day we'd been looking forward to, but our church debut was slipping away. Kimberly, in the dead of night, had an ingenious idea - a locksmith. But, alas, Sunday locksmiths were as rare as unicorns. Still, we clung to hope, believing that one brave soul would come to our rescue. On Sunday morning, no less, where most locksmiths seemed to have hit the snooze button. Kimberly was able to contact a locksmith willing to meet us in 30 minutes. Our anticipation grew as we expected that elusive locksmith to save the day.

11:30 that the door finally The four of us hopped in an Uber and arrived back to our apartment building. When hope finally seemed within reach, a repairman arrived. Armed with a treasure trove of tools, he wrestled with the lock, sweating and struggling as if it were a heavyweight champion. But the door proved a tough nut to crack. So, around 11:00 PM, he unleashed the ultimate weapon - a drill. It wasn't until surrendered, but by then, church was but a distant dream.

A couple of hours later, the building engineer messaged us that he'd be coming to repair the lock. The irony was not lost on us, considering we could have used his expertise the day before. He revealed the culprit: dead batteries. But here's the kicker - the battery panel could only be accessed from inside the apartment, making it an unsolvable puzzle when locked outside.

Our solution? We proposed switching the lock with one from apartment #76 on the sixth floor. It was a stroke of genius, but it required the authorization, so Kimberly and Michael were summoned once again. The engineer went to the sixth floor and returned with the electronic lock from #76, and we finally had a secure, functioning door.

Let's just say, after this whirlwind of an adventure, we're going to bed early tonight for a well-deserved rest. The misadventure in England will go down in history as one of our most memorable experiences!