9-1-1? Sorry, but our offices are currently closed...

Aislin spent about an hour this afternoon captive inside our downstairs bathroom. Something was wrong with the latch on the door and no matter how hard she or I pushed down on the handle, it wasn't enough to open the door. I slipped her a credit card, but try verbally explaining to a nine-year-old how to jimmy a lock ("no, it's really okay to destroy my Borders bookstore card, jam it in there harder, really, I won't be mad..."). I tried disassembling the door handle, but I ended up with several loose screws and an otherwise intact handle assembly. The hinges are engineered in some new space-age fashion that renders them utterly impenetrable to me, at least. So what do I do? I'm renting, so I call the maintenance guy, right?

We-ell, in this country you need to schedule your maintenance issues. Make sure your pipes burst or children get locked in rooms between the hours of 10 and 11 on Monday, Wednesday or Friday because that's the only time the maintenance guy will be accepting appointments. In the interim, find some flat food to shove under the door to your trapped child, or see if you can find protective clothing that'll fit under the door so you can take the blowtorch to it.

Realizing I might not even have a person in the office a few minutes from now, I called at 4:40. The lady on the last five minutes of her shift made sure I understood that I'm SOOOOOOOO lucky that she was willing to call him and see if he was willing to come over. She started out:

"Well, have you tried pushing really hard on the handle?"

[What, does she think I'm a complete moron??] "Yes, ma'am, I have."

"I mean really put your weight on it."

"Yes, ma'am, I have my weight on one side and my daughter's on the other. I have to say that you have installed some very heavy duty handles on these doors, but it's not opening."

"Are you sure it's not locked?"

[Deep breath, Amy.] "Yes, ma'am, I'm quite sure."

"Well can't you take a very large screwdriver and try to push the door?"

[I have no idea where she's going with this, so I lie:] "Oh yes, I've tried that too."

"Well, what shall we do?"

"Ehm, I think I need a maintenance person to come fix the door (!?!!)."

"But Caspar is now working in another building and will be off duty in a few minutes."

So I repeat to her s-l-o-w-l-y:

"My. Daughter. Is. LOCKED. In. A. Room."

Her response:

"Don't you have a husband or something who can help out?"

AAAAAUGGGHH!! Where does one even start here? Clearly not with egalitarianism...

[Deep breath.] "No, my husband is working until midnight."

"Oh, okay then. I'll try to get Caspar, but I can't promise anything. He'll come over if I reach him."

"What if you don't reach him?"

"I don't know. I'm sure I'll reach him, but I am leaving here in about five minutes, so you won't be able to reach anyone."

AAAAAGGGGHH!!

"Right, so when do I need to call the police to come let her out?"

"Pardon?"

"When do I know if he will or will not show up?"

"Oh, in an hour or two."

Thankfully, quittin' time being what it is, Caspar miraculously finished the other job and appeared at our door by 4:58. He disassembled the mysterious hinges, removed the door, and was speeding off by 5:01, our "dank u wel"s trailing in his wake.

Sanguine Aislin, in the meantime, enjoyed having a few minutes unburdened by her brother's attentions to pore over her American Girls catalog. I've informed her that she'd better not get any ideas about making this a habit...