A couple of weeks ago I finished shoveling the driveway, put away the shovel and closed the garage door. I tried to open the front door when I remembered I locked it. The voice in my head reminded me that I locked it so Holly wouldn't get out because no one else was home and now I was going to have to try to get into the house through the garage which has a keypad that doesn't always work. The voice also reminded me that for the first time in a couple of days I was the only one home so if I couldn't get in via the keypad I was in big trouble and, oh, by the way, your memory is going since you forgot you locked the front door and then closed the garage door. In fact, all those things ran like a loop in my head.
I went to the garage door and it was only a few inches from the bottom. At some point, while the voice in my head kept talking to me, I twisted my boot slightly. As the garage door hit the ground, I felt my boot squish. Yep, about an inch of my boot was stuck under the garage door.
If I wasn't feeling really stupid for locking myself out of the house, I really was now. I kept trying the keypad, alternately willing it to open and cursing it because we've known for a while that it doesn't work well in cold temperatures.
Of course no one was outside to help. The neighbors are usually outside, but this was just another cold, snowy day. No one lingered outside. I stood there punching the keypad and hoping someone would drive by. Yes, they would have thought I was an idiot, but they also would have helped. No one came. The keypad wouldn't work. I finally pulled out my mobile phone and called for help.
The 911 operator took my information and told me the fire department was coming. While we waited he kept asking if I was ok. He wanted to know if I was bleeding much. Did I feel like I was going to pass out? Was I getting dizzy? I felt like a problem child when I kept explaining that I wasn't really hurt as much as I was stuck. I wasn't bleeding. I wasn't dizzy. I was just stuck. I told him it was a stupid mistake.
To their credit, none of the firefighters who arrived laughed. One man took a crowbar, lifted the garage door about an inch. I pulled out my boot and thanked them all profusely. A few minutes later I signed the form saying that I didn't want to go to the hospital. At that point the firemen and police officer started trying to figure out how to get me into the house.
They tried to break in at a few different places. Finally they settled on trying to get the screen door open. Holly was barking like crazy. The firemen kept saying, "She won't bite, right?" I stood their apologizing and thanking them. The police officer said, "Why don't you try the keypad again?" With two men watching me, I tried it over and over again. Just when I was about as frustrated as I've ever been, I pounded the code one more time. The garage door opened.
The firefighters and police officers started getting their equipment to leave. I thanked them again and again. I felt like a complete idiot as they watched me put the key in the garage door. They weren't leaving until they were sure I could get into the house. When I got into the house I called my husband to tell him about my adventure. My first words were "We need to change the keypad immediately."