Not that it is in anyway related to anything else, but before anything else is said, I must share this quote I came across on my iPad that I jotted down whilst on my Eurotrip, said by my sassy friend Kristina Germany: “I always get those weird e-mails that say, ‘Enlarge your…’ what is it? ‘Big Willy?'” I believe this blog will end with another quote, if I have my way.
And now, onward and outward!
I had to wait a bit to write this post due to certain vulnerabilities that will very soon become clear. Last Friday night, the goyls and I had our short night out (see last blogpost), and I went home free and easy, with no wallet strain or drink bloat. The next morning, I set out to do a little shopping before meeting my former co-worker, but took a slight detour when my key stopped working.
Google search for Leopalace key, with a Leopalace desk/table underneath.
Now I had a bit of a panic, as Leopalace (my apartment company) keys are a wee bit different from normal keys–you can’t make copies, and using them is different, too–you kind of have to get em’ in the right position and stick ’em in until you feel a click, then turn.* But mainly, the differences lies in if you lose them–you are presented with a replacement fee of almost $150. If you have to break the lock, it costs upwards of $300. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling that click, and I didn’t want to leave my apartment open. I thought about going out the back door, but decided against it because the result was still the same; an unlocked apartment. So I thought, “Hey, I know! I’ll just maneuver the deadbolt into place, close the door, and wiggle it out when I come home!” Somehow, I managed to get the bolt into place, and no sooner had I done it than my thoughts of, “This is legit!” turned to, “Oh, shit.” Because like most of those “It seemed like a good idea at the time” moments, the feeling of realism smacking me in the forehead came immediately. I wasn’t getting that baby bolt open without a fight.
After feeling around, sticking things in the middle to try and lift the slidy bits, trying the mailbox, etc.; I headed to my nearby co-worker to see if she had a screwdriver. She did, and we tested it out on her lock. I could get the doorframe bit to detach, which left me feeling hopeful. But back at my apartment, confronted with a gap of 2.5 inches and some wonky angles, my hope started fading. I was able to unscrew part of the doorside bolt, but that bit stayed firmly in place, and I wondered if it was glued on. I decided to get on with my plans and worry about it later.
Fast-forward about 10 hours, after meeting up with my current co-workers for some dance festival in Yoyogi Park (*read: Latin Circles [Japanese for hobby clubs] plus Thai festival food), and my co-worker and I made our way back to my apartment feeling more optimistic determination. We had a whole set of mini screwdrivers; courtesy of my ex-coworker, and with four hands, we tried to unscrew that biznatch.* After about 3 minutes, we gave up, and started scheming alternative options.
“Did you check the window above your door?” My co-worker asked; referring to the window into my loft.
“Yup.”
“Did you check the sliding back door?”
“Yup.”
“Let’s check again, just in case.” So we traveled around to the back, ignoring what I’m sure are “Keep Out” mini-gates, as well as diverting our eyes from the apartments with open curtains (well, except for when I pointed out the layer of moldy clothes on my neighbor’s back curb). Sure enough, the backdoor was locked, but as we stood outside, both of our eyes drifted upward to the window above the door.
“Is that one..?”
“Let’s see!” I reached up, and sure enough, the window slid open. It wouldn’t be my story telling if I didn’t somehow throw in that a window of opportunity opened. So we went back to my co-worker’s nearly identical apartment to concoct a plan.
“What if I stood on the chair, lifted myself up, and kind of came down on the desk?”
“Well…it’s kind of a long drop…”
We put her chair on her balcony (she lives on the second floor) to test the theory. The chair, as you might imagine, was a bit short.
“Does the ladder to the loft detach?”
“Well, I’ve tried it before, and I don’t think so…” But even as I said it, I went over to try, and sure enough, I was able to pop it out. There were joyous shouts all around as we carried the ladder onto the balcony. My co-worker climbed up and sort of straddled the door, which looked fairly uncomfortable, and still didn’t solve the issue of the long drop. We briefly discussed the idea of bringing the ladder through the window when an idea struck me. I grabbed the pole for opening the window and pushed down on the lock from my position in the window. Easier than saying, “Open sesame,” the door unlocked. We had found our key.
We confidently headed back to my apartment; K with her pole, and me with a ladder tucked under my arm. We again made our way to the back of my apartment, where lo and behold, our plan fell easily into place. In no time at all, we were waltzing into my apartment and loading “Arrested Development.”
For a few days after, I decided to risk leaving one of the doors unlocked when I went out, debating whether or not I should tell my Program Coordinator and risk paying a hefty fee, as Japanese companies often seem inflexible about things like this. In the end, I figured it was better to just come out with it than worry about my stuff being stolen, but hallelujah!–the company didn’t charge me to replace the lock! So now, I’m sitting safe and sound behind locked doors, with the assurance that I can leave my apartment secure tomorrow.
Now you might wonder why I would post information about how to get into my apartment, and the answer(s) is simple. One, I’m obviously not leaving my window unlocked anymore, and two, the path behind my apartment is narrow and covered with rocks. Breaking into my place was an extremely noisy endeavor; to be honest, I’m surprised nobody called the cops on us when we tried to get in the back door.*
The best part? K documented the whole shebang.
Slightly terrifying picture of myself.
Up the ladder to my room.
Banging the ladder around the back alley.
Seriously, nobody thought this was weird?
And now, the other promised random quote (with backstory):
My lesson for the day was to talk about feelings, and I assigned the A group to “Confused”. I overheard one freshman girl saying, “I was confused by my boyfriend’s coming out to me,” at which point I chuckled to myself and wondered what her intended Engrish was, when she continued, “He said, ‘I want to be a girl.'” So–no confusion there, actually. I was pretty impressed with her idiom knowledge, and also very interested in the story. Her partner asked, “It’s true?” And she said, “True.”
*That’s what she said.
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