According to our German realtor, when Americans reside in Germany, they often end up locking themselves out. And we proved to be no exception. It began in the hotel where we were living. Despite this prior knowledge and warning, our oldest daughter began repeatedly locking herself out of her hotel room. We resided in three different rooms; a one bedroom apartment and two single rooms across the hall. Our teenage son slept in one of the single rooms and our preteen daughter in the other one. Our two younger girls slept in the living room of the apartment with us.
The first time our ten-year-old, Elizabeth, locked herself out, it occurred at bedtime. This particular hotel only staffed the front desk from about 7am to 7pm Monday through Thursday. The staff locked up by noon on Friday and didn’t return again till Monday morning. So, when Elizabeth realized she was locked out, there was no way to get back into the room until the next morning. She slept on the cot in our tiny living room with both her sisters that night.
The next time it happened, fortunately it was close to dinner time and we were able to get an extra key from the front desk. Then, by the third time, my husband asked at the front desk if we could have extra keys to keep in the apartment for just such an emergency. We used those spare keys many more times in the weeks to come. But when we finally found and moved into our rental house I managed to do the unthinkable; locked myself inside my house instead! Here’s what happened:
We moved in over the weekend and were “camping out” by sleeping on air mattresses and borrowed towels, pillows, and dishes from some other American families. We were still exploring the house and becoming familiar with everything. One day that week, I was standing in front of my front door on the inside and looking at a small metal latch swinging from the wall near the door. I swung it gently back and forth a few times and thought, “What is this?” Finally, I swung it a little harder and it clicked against the door. “Oh, it’s like a dead bolt, “I said aloud to myself.
Then, my eyes widened, as I realized I had no idea how to unlatch it. I moved closer and examined the metal latch. I jiggled it; nothing. I tried sliding it; nothing. I pushed, pulled, shook and banged it; nothing. Then I stood there perplexed. The older kids walked by asking what I was doing and then they each took a turn trying to unlatch it. My husband was at work at the time and upon relaying the story to him later, he thought this would have been a good time to call Blond Star. After all, “they are always on, because I am always blond,” but alas I didn’t think of that at the time.
Finally, I did think, that maybe my neighbor would know how to unlatch it. I walked out the back patio door, across the backyard, through the back gate, down the driveway (past the locked door) and down the street to my next door neighbor’s house. If you have ever done something a bit foolish and then had to explain it to someone else in a language that is not native to them, you know exactly how I was feeling as I stood on my neighbor’s doorstep ringing the bell. When my neighbor answered her door, I stood there sheepishly and flushed and tried to explain what I had done. Of course, she didn’t understand. I finally said, please come and I will show you.
Thus, she followed me down the street, across the driveway, through the back gate, across the yard and into the house by way of the back patio door. I showed her the latch and jiggled it, indicating my predicament. Now, to my justification, she also spent at least five minutes squeezing, pushing, and twisting, trying to unlatch it. But much to my relief, she did eventually find the small metal clip on the underside of the latch and pressed it to slide it open. And that is the story of how I managed to be what was probably the first ever American who locked myself on the inside of my German house!
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