I moved to my 3rd and final London flat last Monday (and yes, I said "flat". I haven't turned into Madonnaaaaaa...it's just easier to say "flat" when I'm in London and it's shorter to type than a.p.a.r.t.m.e.n.t.). The new and old flats are 4/10ths of a mile apart. And since I didn't have any furniture to move I just did it all myself to save money. I hauled two large suitcases and a large shoulder bag full of stuff down the hill to the new place, walked up the stairs, dumped everything on the floor, then returned with the empties up the hill back to the old flat for another load.
I did this about 6 times. So I was a little tired. As I was just about finished with the last load at my old place (okay saying "flat" too many times bothers me now) I walked into the hallway outside the front door for a second and the door slammed shut.
S-s-s-s-shit.
It's one of those annoying front doors that automatically locks when it shuts so if you don't have your keys you're locked out. I lived there for 6 months and never got locked out until the last 10 minutes I was in the damn place.
My phone, wallet, keys to the old and new place, everything are inside. I had nothing.
I ran the 4/10ths of a mile to the new place hoping my landlord (who's also my next door neighbor now) would be home and could let me in so I could get a spare set of keys to the old place which were sitting on a table.
This was the only time all day that she wasn't home.
I waited for a bit to see if she'd come home but no dice. I remembered that I had a spare set of keys at my cousin's place which is exactly 2 miles away. I was supposed to be going to his house right at that time to go over some stuff with his wife and I knew she was expecting me but I couldn't call her to tell her why I was running late.
So I ran and ran down the busy high street. Knocking into people as I continually misjudged the distance between my flailing arms and their huge ass shopping bags. I shouted "SORRY!" but kept running because I thought if I stopped I'd never be able to start again. I haven't worked out in months, you see.
As I hit the mile 1 marker I began formulating a lie to tell them. I had messed up on some work stuff the prior week so I already looked like an idiot and I didn't want to add to that negative impression by saying, "Uhhh, I got locked out." So I decided to tell them that I tripped over a ladder in my entry way... fell out my front door and the door shut and there was nothing I could do. I quickly realized that this lie didn't necessarily help the "I'm swear I'm not an idiot" theory and that it sounded like a lie.
As I had THAT thought.... I tripped... and fell. Right in front of the Natural History Museum. Face down. On the concrete. Which makes complete sense because I trip ALL THE TIME in London. The sidewalk stones are uneven. And I was exhausted. This was a good fall too. I scraped my hands and had two pretty solid wounds with blood dripping out of them on my left leg.
After the shock of the fall wore off I stood up and thought, "Hey, this is PERFECT! Now my lie will work!!"
I started hobbling and I had a huge smile on my face. The people who saw me fall were looking at me like I was an idiot. Which was the exact impression I was hoping to avoid by coming up with the lie in the first place but I only really cared what my cousin and his wife thought.
So I finally get to the house - out of breath and sweaty - and I told his wife my pathetic tale which resulted in sympathy, my spare set of keys and 20 pounds for a taxi back to my old place.
Sweeeeeet.
This is vintage me.
(OMG - that was so much fun to write. I forgot how much I love this blog.)
