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Internet, at last!
There's been so much crazy stuff going on - rowing, housemates, class, harp(ists) - that I don't quite know where to start. So instead, I am going to talk about Fenella's stupidity for the day, from which much hilarity ensued.
It started, I think, when I came home (a fair walk from the music school) to take a nap between classes; anyone who knows me can tell you how bewildered and confused I am when I first wake up. It's kind of like being in one of those weird dreams where nothing anyone says quite makes sense. Except in all honesty, you're the crazy one.
Anyways, I woke up and grabbed my stuff, locked the door, and was half way down the stairs when I realized that I'd locked my keys in my room. Shit. Good thing I had the foresight to make a copy of the key.... which was also locked in my room. Ahaha. In three years of living in residence I locked myself out... twice? But I'd managed to do it in the first week here, where there are no dons and porters and other nice people with master keys.
I whined at my housemate, dithered a little, and decided that there was nothing to be done just now, I had to get to class. So I biked to class, running into one of the Varsity guys rowers on the way (hello, hello), and worried for the full hour of vocal education (And by the by, our teacher is beautifully eccentric. Ah, singers.)
I was all prepared to go harass someone at the hardware store, and get my lock changed, but I decided that no, maybe there was a way to get back into my room. So I called a housemate to see if she was at home to let me in, and she was, so I cycled home (past our house, actually, and turned around and came back because today is CURSED) and began to scheme.
I feel I should add that Jen, said housemate, has a great mind. When I phoned her, she said "Hold on a sec", followed by a knock on a door... pause, and I hear her ask someone "Do you know how to pick locks?" Sadly the answer was "No".
The problem with my room is that it's second story on a semi-attached home with a small window sandwiched in an alcove on the back of the houses. I checked it out from Martin, other housemate's, balcony and yes, there was no way that anyone could possibly climb in through that, or really get to it at all.
I thought maybe I could get in through the closet, the back wall of which really isn't a wall, but plastic, and joins other other housemate's room. But he wasn't home. So Jen and I check out my window from that of the bathroom. I looked out and saw a ladder, and the workmen that are fixing up - gutting, really - the other half of our semi-attached. "Do you think??" I asked Jen, and she said it wouldnt hurt to ask, because it was a beautiful, beautiful, non-lock-changing solution.
So I traipsed over next door where I found Mr. Suave, pressumably the owner?, and Mr. Smooth, one of the workmen, "Hello! I just moved in next door and locked my keys in my room and I was wondering if there was anyway at all you could help me out?"
We went and looked through the back, and they were all "Hmm" and "Haww", and Mr. Suave says "This guy is like a Monkey!". They tell me to stay downstairs and half a minute later I hear a shout... "Is there a screen on your window?"
"Yes."
"Does it open?"
"Maybe...?"
Not even ten seconds later... "Okay, he's in."
So I went to let Mr. Smooth out of our house, who shook my hand and gave me a wink, and told me to clean my room (Which I did, actually, because I might die of embarrassment if that happens again, not that it will because I am leaving my copy key in a super secret location elsewhere, and also so that I could finish unpacking).
But um, I am so grateful I think I might buy them a pie. Or cookies. Or something. But also, tomorrow I am going to buy a lock for my window. Ahaha. Ha.
Other housemate # 1 walked by my room about fifteen minutes later. "How did you do it?" "Weeeell...." His reaction was almost funnier than the incident itself, which was not funny at all, of course.
Also today: I learned how to use a can opener that looks in no way, shape, or form like a can opener except that it is metal and shiny. It is also apparently not approved by Canadian safety standards. Oh how I live on the edge.
There's been so much crazy stuff going on - rowing, housemates, class, harp(ists) - that I don't quite know where to start. So instead, I am going to talk about Fenella's stupidity for the day, from which much hilarity ensued.
It started, I think, when I came home (a fair walk from the music school) to take a nap between classes; anyone who knows me can tell you how bewildered and confused I am when I first wake up. It's kind of like being in one of those weird dreams where nothing anyone says quite makes sense. Except in all honesty, you're the crazy one.
Anyways, I woke up and grabbed my stuff, locked the door, and was half way down the stairs when I realized that I'd locked my keys in my room. Shit. Good thing I had the foresight to make a copy of the key.... which was also locked in my room. Ahaha. In three years of living in residence I locked myself out... twice? But I'd managed to do it in the first week here, where there are no dons and porters and other nice people with master keys.
I whined at my housemate, dithered a little, and decided that there was nothing to be done just now, I had to get to class. So I biked to class, running into one of the Varsity guys rowers on the way (hello, hello), and worried for the full hour of vocal education (And by the by, our teacher is beautifully eccentric. Ah, singers.)
I was all prepared to go harass someone at the hardware store, and get my lock changed, but I decided that no, maybe there was a way to get back into my room. So I called a housemate to see if she was at home to let me in, and she was, so I cycled home (past our house, actually, and turned around and came back because today is CURSED) and began to scheme.
I feel I should add that Jen, said housemate, has a great mind. When I phoned her, she said "Hold on a sec", followed by a knock on a door... pause, and I hear her ask someone "Do you know how to pick locks?" Sadly the answer was "No".
The problem with my room is that it's second story on a semi-attached home with a small window sandwiched in an alcove on the back of the houses. I checked it out from Martin, other housemate's, balcony and yes, there was no way that anyone could possibly climb in through that, or really get to it at all.
I thought maybe I could get in through the closet, the back wall of which really isn't a wall, but plastic, and joins other other housemate's room. But he wasn't home. So Jen and I check out my window from that of the bathroom. I looked out and saw a ladder, and the workmen that are fixing up - gutting, really - the other half of our semi-attached. "Do you think??" I asked Jen, and she said it wouldnt hurt to ask, because it was a beautiful, beautiful, non-lock-changing solution.
So I traipsed over next door where I found Mr. Suave, pressumably the owner?, and Mr. Smooth, one of the workmen, "Hello! I just moved in next door and locked my keys in my room and I was wondering if there was anyway at all you could help me out?"
We went and looked through the back, and they were all "Hmm" and "Haww", and Mr. Suave says "This guy is like a Monkey!". They tell me to stay downstairs and half a minute later I hear a shout... "Is there a screen on your window?"
"Yes."
"Does it open?"
"Maybe...?"
Not even ten seconds later... "Okay, he's in."
So I went to let Mr. Smooth out of our house, who shook my hand and gave me a wink, and told me to clean my room (Which I did, actually, because I might die of embarrassment if that happens again, not that it will because I am leaving my copy key in a super secret location elsewhere, and also so that I could finish unpacking).
But um, I am so grateful I think I might buy them a pie. Or cookies. Or something. But also, tomorrow I am going to buy a lock for my window. Ahaha. Ha.
Other housemate # 1 walked by my room about fifteen minutes later. "How did you do it?" "Weeeell...." His reaction was almost funnier than the incident itself, which was not funny at all, of course.
Also today: I learned how to use a can opener that looks in no way, shape, or form like a can opener except that it is metal and shiny. It is also apparently not approved by Canadian safety standards. Oh how I live on the edge.
