did i mention i work in a monkey house?

So yeah, I suck at this blogging thing. I'm bored with it. I'm going to become one of those people who update their blog once every two or three months until nobody reads it any more. Recently I got an email pep-talk from that lean mean knitting machine Sui Generis, which included the phrase "and just make sure you write something every day... just like blogging!" I was about to say "But I don't blog every day!" and then I thought about it a little more and decided maybe it was a hint.

So this post is dedicated to you, SG. Although I'm not going to blog about Nano, because it's just too geeky. And it has been previously established that I am in fact a nerd, not a geek. Anyway, here's my story.

Last Monday, Halloween, it was about 4:58 and I was getting ready to go home when the boss called. The boss does not seem to actually work here, as most of my contact with him is by phone. He was, of course, very surprised to learn that it was 5, but he needed a minor task done before I could leave. I was done at 5:15, but that made me the last person in the building (for the first time since we moved from the old place). No worries; I had my key and I knew how to set the alarm system.

So I turned out all the lights, set the alarm, ran out the door, and stuck my key in the lock. Didn't lock the door. Tried again; still nothin'. By this time my 30 seconds were up, and as the door was not locked and I was still dicking around with it, the alarm decided I was an intruder.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (it said)

Of course, in all our training on the alarm system, nobody had told me how to turn the alarm off once I had tripped it. So I ran inside, hands clapped over my ears, to try and find the phone number for the alarm company. Most important numbers were taped to the inside of the receptionist's desk. These important numbers included Axel's, but not the alarm company. So I called Boss #1. No answer. Then I called Boss #2. No answer there either. I was out of cell numbers, but I went outside to use my phone without listening to SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE the whole time. I called both guys ten times each, and left messages that I hoped didn't sound too unbalanced, and then my cell phone battery was dead.

Now, when we first got this alarm system, we were assured that as soon as the alarm went off, the alarm company would be calling us to see if it was just a mistake, and we had a Secret Password that we were to use to prove our identities, and if we didn't know the password then cops would be there in short order. Presumably this would also save our asses if we were in the building with angry gun-waving intruders as well. However, I had been listening to SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE for six or seven minutes now, and the phone had yet to ring. If there had been gun-waving intruders, I would probably have been DEAD.

Finally they did call though, and I got the thing to stop screaming at me. However, I still couldn't lock the door. So I did what any self-respecting feminist would do: I started crying and called my boyfriend.

Yeah, all of you can bite my ass.

Mostly I was hoping he would know if there were ways to lock doors that didn't involve sticking the key in the lock, but he didn't. I also had to tell him that I would be late picking him up, since, as you know, he no longer has a car.

I logged into the receptionist's computer and started looking for the list of cell phone numbers that had been distributed when we moved to the new office, but couldn't find it, and of course only the cell phone numbers of the two head honchos were taped to the Important Numbers area. But those guys were obviously not near their phones, and it was now 6:15.

Ultimately, what saved me is that I am a huge-ass slob. Nate and I have recently discussed packing up some of our dishes and putting them in the basement-- the logic is that if we don't have as many dishes, we can't pile as many dirty dishes in the kitchen. Heaven forbid we wash them. So of course the last time I cleaned my car was.... well.... pretty much never. I found the cell phone list crumpled up under my passenger seat where it had been since August 25th. It turned out that the process of locking the front door doesn't actually involve a key at all. It involves an Allen wrench and two tiny bolts on the back side of the door handle. Ghetto? Yes, quite. And not something I ever would have figured out on my own. I finally escaped around 6:35. By the time I got home, all the trick or treaters were long gone, so all five bags of candy are busily packing themselves onto my ass. Lane Bryant, here I come.

The next morning, an informal survey revealed that fully half of the staff did not know that the key didn't lock the door. You may be detecting a pattern in which important information is not disseminated around here. You are very astute.

Here's the kicker, though. Thursday morning they installed a new door. It locks with a key.

Argh.