Locked out, in my PJ's, in New York. Embarassing #136

I remember back when I was in school we used to have this award called 'Richard of the Week', basically it was a giant clay penis that got given to the person who did the dumbest thing each week. I don't remember the things I did but I know I received the honor of being 'Richard' too many times. Last week I lived up to the legacy I thought I had left behind.

This accurately explains what happened to me.

Let me take you back a week ago...
I woke up that morning with the intention of doing some serious cleaning. I thought I'd start with my washing- the first logical step when any woman sets out on a cleaning conquest. Fortunately, my apartment building has laundry facilities in the basement. I set out with my giant purple laundry sack, that makes me look like a gender confused Santa, on a journey to the rapist dungeon aka the basement (we're on the top floor). Just as I push the start button on the washing machine I get the sudden urge to violently bash my head against the wall- I've forgotten my keys. And just because I'm so thrilled with the idea of laundry in the building I don't bother to change out of my pyjamas. And might I also add that I didn't bring my phone because there's no reception in the basement. And my roommates are all out.

With me I have one laundry card, $9, and the clothes off my back. What to do? cue a minor breakdown.

Fortunately, all those days of watching Man vs. Wild with my grandad pay off. This is survival. I know if I walk out the front door of the apartment building I will have absolutely no way of hiding the fact that I am clearly not dressed appropriately. That's a risk I had to take. I set off down the street in search of someway to communicate with my roommates. Shit. I don't know their numbers. I'm screwed. [Oprah 'Ah-ha' moment goes here]. Need internet. I walk down the street, trying not to stand out, and I see my favourite bald Italian dairy owner standing on the corner. I ask him if I can use his internet. He goes out the back of his store/apartment and brings back a laptop. Thank you Jeebus! I open it and frantically start typing. I send emails, tweets, and facebook messages to my roommates. After 30minutes I almost give up but just as my hope is about to die I get a reply. 2hours later and I'm back in the apartment.

Moral of the story: Pyjamas should never be allowed past the front door. Oh and don't forget your keys because it's not fun walking around in public looking more homeless than the homeless guy. Especially if you're in New York City.

Peace, Morgs