i have to tell you a little secret: some people are serial procrastinators. i don’t know if you know anyone like this, but they’re a huge nuisance. they never do things on time, they invent the most hilarious excuses, and they’re just not that great. if you meet one, stay away. if you know one, be thankful you’re different (hopefully). and if you are one.. step up to the microphone beside me. my name is katie, and i’m a serial procrastinator.
and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why i put off digging through the treasure chest of photos this week and therefore am sitting here, on a thursday might i add, with no wayback wednesday photo to show you. i swear to you though, i will get one, track it down, and give it to you in all it’s glory. it might be on tuesday, but it’ll be done. and i solemnly swear to follow wayback wednesday like a religion from now until i have shared every terrible photo of myself with the blogosphere. i shall not rest.
so today i’m going to share with you a story as equally funny as any photo, really. i’m going to tell you about the day i got stuck in a window. (this one’s always a crowd pleaser.)
in 2003 my parents began construction of their new home. my home is beautiful, ranch style, cozy and comforting, but it has two distinct features i must tell you about: one is it’s windows, which, like most, don’t crank out but rather slide up; and the second is what’s known as a powerbolt. i’ll save you the click: a powerbolt is a deadbolt powered by batteries, which has a numeric pad on it. it is assigned a 4 digit code, which, when punched correctly, gives you easy access to the house. (note: it’s also significantly burglar proof, but even if it wasn’t, the huge german shepherd i own is. don’t come to visit me, as i can’t guarantee the security if your limbs.)
i love having a powerbolt. it means i don’t have to worry about keys, which is great for someone with a purse as sloppy as mine. however, one day when i was 13, i learned how a powerbolt can be a nuisance: ours had run its batteries dry, and no way, no how would that door unlock. both of my parents kept spare keys on their key rings, so we hadn’t placed one outside. i was in a pickle, because it would be two hours until anyone was home to let me in. sure, i could have hung out in the barn, but i probably had computer games to play or something. undeterred, i cased the house.
i was able to find only one window unlocked: the small window that went into my parent’s ensuite bathroom. and then, in my deft little mind, i went to work. i went to the barn and found two sawhorses, which i carted up to the house. i left one in it’s normal position, then placed another, end up, on top of it. i soon discovered that, while close, i still couldn’t quite reach the window. my solution for this was a well placed 5 gallon bucket on top of both sawhorses. i clung to the window as my tower of items shifted beneath me, then used the utility knife i had swiped from the barn to cut a diagonal slice across the screen. i felt so very relieved when the window pushed up at the touch of my fingertips. seeing freedom and entry about five seconds away, i shifted backwards, leaned down, and leaped off of my perch and through the open window.
the force from my leap knocked my sawhorse and bucket contraption to the ground behind me, which ordinarily would have been fine, but i had overestimated the width of the tiny window, and became stuck. my head was facing into the toilet, and, while i could have wriggled free, i would have fallen headfirst into porcelain and ceramic tile. visions of me laying with a broken neck flooded my mind, and i decided to stay put in the window, since jumping 14 feet to the ground on the other side wasn’t appealing to me either.
and so i stayed. i lay my hips against the window frame, which was, originally, the most comfortable position. for the first hour, i managed to entertain myself. i dug through my parents bathroom closet, testing out the softness of some towels on my face, until i became kind of distressed. i started to scream periodically, because, at 13, i didn’t wear a watch and had no concept of time and was convinced my parents probably had a parent teacher meeting or something after work and that i was going to die in that window. i wailed and screamed, but what i didn’t realize was that the lower half of my body had gone numb. because i had been actively using my upper body, and i had raised it to root through the towel closet, the window frame had cut off circulation to my legs. i then convinced myself i was paralyzed, flopped down against the bathroom wall with the top half of my body, and sobbed. (it was at this point that one of my darling house cats wandered in to see if i was okay. never have i been so jealous of a creature in my life. i have also not kept indoor cats since.)
in another hour, my father pulled into his parking spot in our driveway and caught sight of my legs hanging out of the window. i know he must have desperately wanted to laugh, but he came running and within seconds i was out of my predicament. i had a little trouble using my legs, but damn i was happy to be out of window prison.
in all, i was much less worse for the wear. my hips and stomach turned black with bruising and a prominent window frame could be seen in my skin, but it healed up nicely and not much else happened. i learned that if you’re going to go through a window, make it a picture window or even a patio door, and if you have to reminisce about being on a theme park ride while climbing up a contraption you made to get into said window, it’s probably not a good idea. i also learned that it’s important for dads to rescue first, laugh second, that house cats can be devious little creatures, and that brushing my horse for two hours is far better then staring into a toilet.
next time, you can find me chillin’ in the barn.