Almost homeless in London

 On the 3rd night things take a dramatic turn. 

I always ordered my groceries for delivery at home. So I thought I’d try it here. So I order it just like usual, pick a time slot for delivery. Everything’s cool.

Get a message saying they are behind. Okay, that’s alright. Time goes by.  I had ordered a evening delivery and it’s getting late. I had told them ring the buzzer and I’ll come down and get it. So I thought maybe they had just left it at the door. So we thought we’d go to check.

So we went out to the hall to go downstairs. The door shuts behind us. We go downstairs. It’s not there. Come upstairs and discover THE DOOR IS LOCKED! Do we have the key? Ah no…we were just going 50 feet down to the door. The lock is from the 1920s or something and automatically locks.

So we are staying in a five unit condo building. We are on the second floor. WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO NOW?! Remember I told you the owner is in France? Neither one of us had our phones with us to call anybody.

I am picturing us spending the night on the street, homeless in London. I’m picturing the police breaking down the door.

So we think- hey maybe there’s a sort of caretaker in the building who has e very one’s keys or something…So we knock next door. No answer. Okay go downstairs.

Door #2: Guy offered to help us force the door open. Ah no…Door #3 The guy knew the owner and had her number! He said he’d call her. I fell at his feet to worship him. Har.

So he calls and comes out to tell us her parents will be there ion 10 minutes to let us in. Hallejulah!

She comes. We apologize profusely. We go in. I superglue the key to my hand. (!) All is well. Another crisis averted