After I locked myself out

It takes a particularly bad and lazy landlord slum lord to not even lift a finger to help me get back into my apartment, telling me “You’ll have to call a locksmith for all I care,” after I’ve locked myself out.

It takes a pretty good neighbor to offer me a beer and listen to me bitch about our bad and lazy landlord slum lord after I’ve locked myself out.

It takes a pretty kick-ass sister to drive all the way across town on the off chance that she might have a key to my apartment among the myriad keys she’s got on her many keychains, risking the possibility of missing “Rockstar:Supernova”, after I locked myself out.

But it takes an awesome friend to drive all the way from freakin’ Canby to pick me up, drive me downtown, let me use her badge to get into my office building after hours, and drive me back home, all to retrieve my spare key, which, obviously, I couldn’t get to without my own employee badge, all after 8:30 PM, after I’ve locked myself out.

Each of these people will be getting what they deserve. I promise.