I woke up bright and early this morning with the full intention of getting to work early. I went through my normal routine; I hit the snooze button three or four times, stumbled into my bathrobe, took a shower, and headed to my closet to pick out an outfit to wear. It was here that I found my normal routine to end, as I could not, for some reason, manage to get my closet door open. I turned the knob with all my might, but was unsuccessful in unsticking the lock. I looked around my apartment and realized with horror that the only items of clothing available for me to wear to work were pink fuzzy slippers, a pair of ratty jeans, the t-shirt that I wore to bed, and a tank top emblazoned with the word "Hu$tler" that was actually part of my Halloween costume. I called my Super and left him a frantic S.O.S message, and then picked up the phone and had the following conversation with my boss:

Jen: Um. Hi. I can't believe I'm even going to say this, but I'm going to be late to work because I can't get the door to my closet open.
Boss: Come again?
Jen: I know it sounds utterly preposterous, but the doorknob to my closet is stuck and unless you want me showing up at the office in pink fuzzy slippers and jeans, I need to wait for my landlord to get here to help me out.
Boss: Ok...well..Can you take the door off the hinges?
Jen: I don't even know what that means.
Boss: (What follows here is a lengthy description (ala Bob Vila) about how to unhinge a door.)
Jen: Yeah..Okay. I don't think I'm going to try that. It sounds dangerous.
Boss: (Suspiciously) Well, just get here when you can.

I then proceeded to locate a screwdriver (that I had previously used only to open bottles of beer), and attempted to unscrew the doorknob from the door. This did not work, and the only thing I managed to accomplish was breaking my doorknob completely, leaving it hanging loosely from my closet door (which not surprisingly still left me unable to gain access to my closet). I defeatedly sat down on my couch for a while, did some dishes, and popped a Sex in the City video into the VCR to help me pass the time while waiting for my landlord to show. While watching the video I couldn't help but stare at the very door that prevented me from gaining access to my wardrobe. It seemed silly. It wasn't a vault after all. It was a flimsy plywood door. I should be able to break it down. Every few minutes I would run to the door to my closet and fight wildly with the doorknob to let me in. I was continually unsuccessful, and would kick the door with my slipper-clad foot, screaming obscenities at no one in particular. The door being stuck was just the nail in the coffin as far as I was concerned. From the moment I moved in, the place had been nothing but trouble.

This apartment, though cute, large, and inexpensive, has yielded many problems since I've begun inhabiting the residence. When I moved in, I spent about two months painting, re-flooring, refinishing, and flat out re-doing the entire place. It was a mess, but I saw its potential and thought it was worth the effort. Unfortunately I was unaware of all of the potential problems. Since the remodeling, my toilet has exploded (flooding my bathroom and kitchen), the gas has been inadvertently turned off due to a construction mishap on the main floor, my heat has been broken several times in the short month that it has actually been cold, and the ceiling has cracked and landed on my head. Just last week, the landlord replaced the front door and neglected to tell me that I needed a new key in order to gain entrance to the building. I was left outside in the cold at 3 o'clock in the morning trying to locate someone to let me in. Then, just this past weekend, on the morning that I returned from an exhausting trip, I was shocked to find that my cats had killed a medium sized mouse that had somehow managed to infiltrate my home. Upon informing my landlord that my cats had killed a rodent, he giggled and said, "Good thing you have cats, otherwise it'd still be alive!" Ha.

So it might seem that this morning's events should not have been a surprise to me. I was beginning to give up all hope, but just as I was cursing the closet door for the last time, it randomly decided to just pop open. I gained entrance and dressed rapidly, feeling stupid for having engaged myself in a three-hour battle with a wooden door. Flashes of the movie "The Money Pit" kept popping into my head. With all the trouble that had occurred, I felt as if my experiences were akin to those that were depicted by Shelly Long and Tom Hanks in the movie. Similar to Shelly, I pictured myself sitting in a bubble bath in my claw-footed tub, only to hear the floor break and find myself falling into the apartment below me. I would be naked and embarrassed, and likely in quite a bit of pain.

My only saving grace right now is that I know that in less than a month I will be living in a clean, rodent-free apartment in Hermosa Beach, California. Hopefully the closet doors will open without incident.