battle of the lock

Never did I think I would find myself in a serious battle with a lock. Not to the point of tears, that's for sure. But today, I was proven wrong. It was a battle of the lock, between me and it, and I was determined to win, even though it totally emotionally and physically exhausted me.

I went to my storage shed in Madison where my work stuff is stored that I typically don't need. Today I decided I wanted the microwave out of there to have in my office for warming up my lunches. Simple enough. I drove to the shed, unlocked it, and rummaged my way through stuff until I got the microwave.

It was filthy. It was covered in this orangish pink fluttery flaky stuff. I believe it was insulation from the ceiling, but am not positive. Ahem, anyhow! This is beside the point.

I stick the much wanted microwave into my van, pull the garage door shut and go to slide in the latch so I can put the padlock back on it. Clink. It was a no go. So I fiddle and faddle (is that a word?) with it and keep sliding it. Clink. That sound again of the lock not sliding into it's place.

I've had this problem before. I've even battled the lock for 15 minutes before. But today was different. This lock was proving itself to be much tougher than I had given it credit. I messed with it for 10 minutes. Clink. Again, no go. I opened the garage door and slammed it down. I stepped on the handle on the bottom thinking for sure the weight of my body would surely push that door down where it needs to be so the lock would slide. I slid it. Clink.

Up with the door, down with the door, up, down, back and forth with the lock, in and out, up with the door, down with the door. Clink. Now I'm frustrated. I start to panic. I even ask God to help me get this latch to slide. Surely that will work. Clink.

The tears start rolling down my face. I'm looking for any soul to come help me, but there is no sign of anyone. I get out the shovel and start beating the snow and ice, then go back for the door. Clink.

I call my husband, in tears, he's trying to tell me what to do. But I've already done it. Now I'm mad at myself because all I wanted was the stupid microwave so I could eat my lunch and now here I sit in a battle of the lock. I can't leave because it's full of Early Head Start stuff and I can't get it to lock. I can't call my boss because she's in Washington D.C. I have no one to call. I finally sob through my tears, tell my husband I have to go, take off my glasses because by now I can't see through the water soaked lenses and go back to the snow and ice.

Now I'm looking for something hard to chisel inside the track with, but all I find is a clip to hold papers. I try it. It doesn't work. Then, just as if a light bulb brightly popped over my head, I think, an ice scrapper. Brilliant, right?

I wail on that ice and keep whacking the scrapper against the ice. I slam the door shut. Slide the lock. Clink. Oh man, that was the end. I'm now crying uncontrollably, totally spent, completely exhausted, and pissed.

I whip the door open again, beat the ice to snow cone consistency, pull the door shut, slide the lock, and whammy, it slides in. The padlock goes on and it's locked. The extreme panic immediately leaves, my eyes are tired, my mind is weak, and I think nobody, Nobody, will ever believe me about my battle of the lock.

Let me promise you this, I swear, I will never, ever, go near that storage shed again.