In Which My Bathroom And I Spend Some Alone Time

My tolerance-level for small piles of papers and what-all is pretty high. I tend to file and toss in a frenzy about twice a month or less, depending on the amount of things to be filed ... or tossed. So I guess I didn't really notice the kitchen table had become a ... well ... not a mess really but yeah, kinda.

And sure - I got so frustrated with the doorknob replacement in the bathroom that I just stalled out and haven't bothered to do anything on it in a few weeks. And it's also true that I made a promise to myself to organize my two closets into "wear around the house" and "stash for warmer weather" boxes to be pulled out next year. This is ALL true.

But I found myself somewhat ... irked ... when these various projects were noticed by The Awesome Boyfriend. And let me be VERY clear - it was a MINOR mention - like "hey, so this isn't how this is always gonna look, right?" sort of thing. It was NOT critical at all. It was meant to be just a very gentle nudge to me - a reminder that I shouldn't lose my steam just yet.

(Have I qualified this enough yet?)

And, an hour or so later that evening, I'd already finished my closets. I was enjoying a small bit of smug satisfaction ... was envisioning a smattering of a smug "I told you so" moment the next day when The Awesome Boyfriend visited and, high on my success, I decided to chose one more "to do" before calling it a night. I chose the bathroom doorknob.

Here's the thing: Doorknobs, even non-locking ones, are wider in 2009 than the ones I am trying to replace. So it wasn't just "unlatch this one, slap a new one in". It was "redrill the hole, line up the new striker plate, widen the slip-slot for the inner workings of the latch, plug the old screw holes, redrill new holes, check to be sure the striker plate isn't set too far back. Plug the old striker plate holes and redrill new holes when it turns out the striker plate WOULD be too far back."

I will admit that I'm not gonna be showing up on any home repair reality shows soon. I will also admit that I'm handy enough around the home that I knew if I just took my time and really understood what I was doing that I'd get this done. I am walking proof that a little knowledge in something is a dangerous thing, but I figured that once I did one replacement, the rest would be a little easier. I started with the least necessary doorknob and decided that the last one I'd replace would be the front door. (After all, using a towel stuffed into the hole where the lock WOULD be probably wouldn't be a good idea for a front door, but it's worked just fine for the bathroom.)

So I grabbed my chisel and revisited the situation as I'd left it. I had already patched the areas I'd need solid for the new holes, so I just needed to place the striker plate in the right spot, close the door to see if the location was correct, slap in the inner workings, and ... basically ... pat myself on the back.

Imagine my surprise when things lined up on the very first try!! That satisfying "click" that translated as success. "Pish, that was just too damn easy! Time to insert the knobs on both sides and tighten things up", my smug self thought. I slipped my index finger and thumb around the top of the inner workings, slipped it back, and opened the door with no issue whatsoever.

(Those of you who read carefully may note that the "click" also translated into the door closing with my having NO means of opening the latch, except by using my fingers. I don't know why this didn't occur to me, but somehow it just didn't.)

The ONLY modification I noticed was that the striker plate could be inset just a tiny bit more. So I removed it and decided to leave the last bit of woodwork for the morning. I slept soundly, imagining NOT making a big deal about having a working doorknob when The Awesome Boyfriend visited the next day.

First thing in the morning, I popped outta bed, got dressed, grabbed my chisel and headed to the bathroom. I marked the striker with lipstick (a trick I picked up in Biloxi) and it indicated the areas I needed to remove by marking them red. As I was refining the setback space for the striker plate, my brain commented that it'd be funny if I did such a good job that I wouldn't be able to open the door once I tested it. My brain also flashed on "maybe you should get your phone, just in case" but ... my only excuse is that I hadn't yet had breakfast. I wasn't operating correctly or something.

"Click" went the inner workings, once again telling me I'd done a good job. "Time to put the striker plate back on", said my brain. "No problem", said my hands as I reached for the same sweet spot on the inner workings that I'd used just a few short hours before. And, after I fumbled for a few minutes, my hands said "well - ok - maybe a small problem".

I looked at the window in the bathroom. It's high up. And the ground outside is kinda far below - I'd likely at least twist my ankle. Plus, it's VERY small. So I wouldn't even get out of it in the first place. I glanced back at the door and loudly - with great satisfaction - I shouted an obscenity that would translate as "rooster slurper" on a family-friendly blog.

I had only my chisel to work with. The first thing I did was close the heater vent. It was likely that I'd have no problem keeping warm in such a space - I was already breaking into a sweat. I tried - with no success - to find the magic latch release with the chisel. I banged on it using the handle. I pounded on the door in frustration. I had no watch, no cell phone, and knew The Awesome Boyfriend wouldn't have reason to stop in before he'd leave for work (plus he'd likely already left anyway). And even if he DID somehow stop in, I'd have no way to walk him through what needed to be installed. (From the outside, the knob doesn't really control much. Especially if the inner workings were bent -which I'd very successfully done as I bashed on them in my anger.) I was, officially, locked inside of my bathroom.

The UPS guy rang the back doorbell. I flashed to a scene from Friends in which Phoebe, Ross and Carol, his ex-wife are all locked in a facilities closet in a hospital. Phoebe has her guitar with her and begins to sing "they found their bodies the very next day, they found their bodies the very ...".

"Well", I thought, "at least if I needed to take a nap, I could line the bathtub with towels and hey - if I needed to use the facilities or wanted to take a shower or a verrrrrrrry long bath, I'd be all set." I imagined telling the story to The Awesome Boyfriend and wondered if it'd be something I'd share with him from behind a door or face-to-face.

Two hours later ...

After I'd removed the pins in the upper and lower hinges (realizing that this would do me no good, as it didn't shrink the space between the door and the striker plate but it made me feel better to be doing SOMETHING), I'd chiseled enough away from the striker plate as to place the chisel in a manner that allowed me to withdraw the latch. The door swung open (and, of course, the top hinge gave way, since it wasn't connected any more) and my first reaction was to ... use the bathroom.

*****************

Today I will clean off the kitchen table.

There is no door between the kitchen and the living room.

There is a swinging door between the kitchen and the hallway to the back door so, because of that, I may keep my chisel and cell phone nearby ... yanno, just in case.