by the way.

After reading my last post, M. asked if I could fax him a donut. Is he kidding? You can’t fax a donut. It’s 2009, I’ll email it to you.

Poor guy. We had a rough night. M. got home from work-school-study group in the library at 11:30pm and when he went to put his key in the lock of our apartment door, it got all fahkahktad and broke. So there we were in da middle of da night with no lock on our door. What were we to do but call a locksmith? In the quest for a locksmith that could arrive within the hour, we called a few companies to get the best time/cost estimate. After we found one that could arrive in a ½ hour, M. called to cancel the other service that was going to take longer. Just as the locksmith arrived, another locksmith called M. to say he was on his way to our apartment. M. tried to clarify with the man that we had canceled our request but the man wasn’t having it and threatened M., in more than phone call, that he was coming to “collect his fee.” Delightful.

The locksmith on the scene worked quickly and before we knew it, we had a brand new dead bolt. The price? NOT PRETTY. At all. And to make the night even better, the guy would only take cash, a lot of cash. M. had to venture out into the cold night to find not one, but two ATMs to retrieve the wad of bills. When we finally got into bed, after 1 pm and totally bummed about the amount of money we managed to spend in 15 minutes in the middle of the night (having not seen any strippers or done any drugs), M. swore he heard the derailed locksmith banging on our building’s door.

The saga continues, as M. battles our darling landlord in hopes of getting some of the dollars back since handyman Frank is apparently not too handy after all.