How the A--hole Got Locked In

by W. Lyndham Archer

Each Sunday I go swimming at my daughter Kate's. She has a big, heated, indoor pool. It's a bit risky because sometimes no one is at home and if I have a heart attack or suffer some other disability, I have to gamble that I can save myself from drowning. Usually I don't have a heart attack or other disability despite my age.

Last Sunday I arrived just as Kate and Bill were leaving with their granddaughter for a shopping spree at Cub Foods. After they left I had a good swim and shower. Then I put on my goose-down jacket and prepared to go to my car for an uneventful departure. I went to the door to the garage, the same door by which I had entered. It was in the garage that I had left my boots before entering the house. I turned the locking device far to the left but the doorknob would not turn. So I turned the device far to the right but still the doorknob would not turn. The Wilmans had locked the door and I could not unlock it.

So I went to the front door, opened it, but realized that I would have to walk 20 feet in my stocking feet through the snow to get to my car. This seemed too high a price to pay for my escape. I decided to call for help.

I called home and got the telephone number for Kate's daughter, Callie, who lives in the house next door to her mother. I then dialed the number. After a few rings, the recorded message said that no one could come to the phone so please leave a message. I recited my woes: "This is your grandfather. I am locked in your mother's house after my swim. I could choose to go in my stocking feet through the snow to get to my car but I don't want to do that. So would you please come over and get me out. Thank you."

After hanging up the phone, I tried meditating for a few minutes but it was impossible to stop thinking about my predicament. So I dialed my granddaughter again and, sure enough, this time she answered. I described my problem and asked her if she had checked for messages describing my being locked in the house. She said there were no messages and she had been home all day and no one had called. She added that sometimes the lock on the door to the garage gets stuck.

Callie came right over and released me from my captivity by strenuously turning the locking device on the door to the garage. I retrieved my boots and left. But I wonder what the family may think who got the message that their grandfather was trapped in their mother's house.

My wife says I am an asshole.

Copyright © W. Lyndham Archer 2003