At 11:00 this morning, I locked myself out of my house. It was raining, a cold sleet that soon became hail. I called the landlord’s cell. Straight to voicemail. Left a message. Texted. 15 minutes of waiting = no answer.
I texted a woman who lives upstairs to see if she knew where the landlord was–it’s a holiday; for all I knew, she’d left town. The woman upstairs was at work, but told me to go around the house and look in the landlord’s garage. She always leaves the garage door a bit open. If her car was there, I’d see it.
I went around and there was no car. But there was, I noticed, enough room to crawl under the garage door and, if the door to the house was unlocked, I could get back to my apartment, which was open. Lo and behold, it worked! I texted the landlord to let her know everything had worked out.
Over an hour later, she called back. Pissed. “Aghast” was the term she used. She’s “aghast” that I would do that to “her house.” She said I don’t know who’s in her house, and how dare I do that, and that next time I need to call her. I told her I did. She went on and on about how I need to call her. I pointed out I did call her. Left her a message. Texted. Called again. Called again. The woman upstairs also called her cell. And her business. No answer.
The landlord said if it happens again I should wait, even if takes an hour, even if it’s hailing.
Am I crazy? Or am I wrong?