We have a pool at our complex. I don't go that often, since it is usually full of screaming children. The last time I tried to go, I couldn't get in the door. They'd added a new childproof lock, and a new key fob unit, and I tried three times to open the door with no success. Tail between my legs, I turned around and went to sun on my balcony.
This morning, recovering from a migraine, in desperate need of some Vitamin D, and seeing from my very belated rent drop off (whoops) that the pool was empty, I decided to try again. This time I went through the clubhouse and down through the gym entrance. I had a small problem with that door too, as it is also childproofed, but, blessed with no watching eyes, I managed to figure out how to pull up the knob and pull (not push) the door open. Great success! (thought in requisite old-school Kazakhstani accent).
For the next hour I talked on the phone, listened to my "chill" playlist on my ipod, and burned my poor pigment-less skin in perfect happiness. About ten minutes before I wanted to leave, a group of people I have seen there before showed up. Three very hot, built men, and two gym-tiny, perfectly bronzed women. They travel in a pack, sit and drink beer out of dixie cups, and loudly discuss how their last significant others (S.O.s) weren't quite hot enough to be worth their time. Charming, and the perfect storm of how to make Annie feel inadequate.
Despite this reaction, I am a girl who appreciates scenery, so when I went to leave, I decided to go through the main entrance so I could walk by and get a closer view of Headband boy (who makes sure to do a Baywatch worthy pool dive, rise out of the water, and slick his luscious chesnut locks away from his face every twenty minutes) and Clark Kent (who comes in wearing his glasses but takes them off the same time he reveals his six-pack with a graceful toss of his wife beater). This entrance is the one with the door I had not yet deciphered, but I decided to risk it anyway. I mean, it had to be easier to get OUT of the door than in, right??
So I did my walkby, went up the steps with my own little ploy of letting my hair out of the ponytail (since I got a cute new haircut and blowout on Wednesday, I knew it would--for once!!--fall down in perfect waves just like a shampoo commercial), and headed towards the door. With the structure of the pool, the door is directly above the pool deck, so it is blocked from viewing but still close enough to hear what is going on. I get there, and with confidence, pull up the knob, and pull. Nothing. I pull up the knob, and push. Double nothing. Which, as you math geniuses know, is still nothing.
It's hard to be subtle as you push and pull at a heavy metal door, clanging it against its hinges, for five minutes, but I did my best. And as it became increasingly clear that I was indeed as locked in as I had been locked out, I started to consider my options. This is when the "if life was a romantic comedy" (ILWARC) kicked in. ILWARC, I would have gone back down the stairs around to the other entrance, say something cute and endearing about my issues to Headband Boy and Clark Kent and intrigue them enough to garner me an invite to the next Dixie Cup bitchfest. Or, ILWARC with me as a clutzy heroine (which it should be--it would make my clumsiness worthwhile), I would have gone with my second plan, clambered over the gate, and tripped into the hot guy on the other side, forcing him to catch me in his beefy arms and make a sexy joke about angels falling from heaven.
If I haven't mentioned before in this blog, I read alot of romance novels. And write them as well in my free time. This is because my mind works in this way, all the time. And it is nice to be able to create a world where all this wonderful potential situations can actually happen. Is that just me?
Then, as I set down my pile of stuff to give one more attempt to unlock the mystery of the childproof lock, an honest-to-goodness hot guy walked by. Done up in workup gear, headed to the gym on a Saturday morning, no less. He walked a bit past, then, clearly realizing I wasn't pulling on the door for my health, backtracked a bit. Wait, I thought. Maybe life IS a romantic comedy! I sent him my best cute/sheepish grin, and said, "I'm sorry, do you know how to get out? I have issues."
Silently, he passed his own key fob over the fob lock, pulled up the knob, and pushed the door towards me. Then, even as I opened my mouth to thank him, he turned, and walked on.
Nope, he didn't say a word. Never even took the earphones out of his ears. He did manage not to sneer, but that was about the only positive.
Well, I thought as I slipped through the door and headed towards as home, just another reason my life needs screenwriters.
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