The end of the day was fast approaching and I still needed to get some packets together for a school group the next day. I raced down to the part of the crypt where the worksheets are kept. The small wooden door under the major stairs unlocks to lead down another narrow stone staircase. Swing open an iron gate, flip on the lights (no windows down here), and enter a cold, giant stone room with nothing but dust bunnies to keep you company. I am told, "Never, ever close the door all they way. Bring your mobile with you just in case because, once that door closes, you're stuck."
But it's the end of the day, and I only have to make a few packets. I'll just run down real quick. I close the door behind me just enough so that the public doesn't know that it's open, but not far enough that it shuts. Everything goes according to plan, and after about an hour, I sludge up the stairs carrying my finished boxes. But wait, I no longer see a light coming through the gap in the door. I put down my boxes and yank on the handle. No luck. Someone has unintentionally shut me in!
I try pulling harder, using my foot against the wall as leverage. The lock holds. I consider banging on the door to see if someone will hear me and get an attendant, but just as I raise my fist to start pounding, I pause. The noise would probably scare the living daylights out of some passerby visitor.
Can you imagine? You are walking down the hall, enjoying your visit the museum when, suddenly, you hear a banging noise soming from beneath the stairs. "Help! Let me out!" you hear a scream emanating from below as the wood creaks from the thudding. It's some trapped soul, locked away in the dark bowels of the museum!
That would be enough to give some elderly lady a heart attack. I decide to wait before knocking and use it as a last resort.
Instead, I peer through the keyhole. The lock seems to work both ways --- could I try my key in reverse? I poke and prod and twist and turn. "The museum will be closing in five minutes." the loudspeaker announces to the public. I poke and prod and twist and turn even faster now. My palms are getting sweatier and I roll up my sleeves. The key just twirls in circles and doesn't seem to do anything.
Finally, I feel the key click with a special flick of my wrist. I give one last pull on the handle, nearly slipping off the stair ledge in the process. The door swings open nonchalantly, hinging open easily as though it never had a problem. Stupid door.
By now, the museum has closed and I am unexpectedly greeted by another door. The attendant must have sealed off the hallway while I was stuck downstairs. I leave the boxes where they are---I'm not carrying them through this maze. I have to exit through different exhibits, climbing my way through the Egypt room, manuevering through blockades in the Medeival corridor, and finally finding the main staircase to lead back to the offices. I felt like Lara Croft, tomb raider, or Indiana Jones. All I need know is a giant boulder to roll my way.
Later that night, I had the same thing happen to me in the bathroom of my apartment. No joke, the key got stuck in the door, and while balancing a towel atop my head, it took me 10 minutes to jiggle it just the right way to loosen the lock. Really? Again? Maybe if the museum gig doesn't work out, I can get a job as a locksmith.
When I get home, I hope to never use a Victorian-era stylized key again. I don't think I even want to use a key. Maybe I'll just get swipe cards for everything.
No comments:
Post a Comment