slowly surely + xyz : a journey of (re)discovery

I AM. Adulting

By InspiredJourney

 

 

There was no prior indication the key would snap.

As I knelt there starting at the top of the key, I lingered in disbelief, for a long time. I’m not exaggerating when I say it took several minutes for my brain to comprehend the key was now in pieces; one on my hand, the other lodged inside the lock.

Still on my knees, I was stunned and afraid the seemingly impenetrable garage-style metal door would not be opened to gain access to the IDs.

The IDs belonged to guest staying at Hostel I Can’t Catch A Break.

O.M.G.

As I was there, hoping I could make a connection between the bit inside the lock and the piece in my hand, THE thing I didn’t want to happen, happened: a group of three people appeared at the desk wanting to check out!!!!!!!!!!!

Having to explain the issue was a terrible moment. The guy had his ID, but those of the women were locked behind this sheet of metal.

They waited for a few minutes before stating they’d take their chances at the airport to see if they could board without this ID. One of the women didn’t seem pressed, citing she could easily replace her ID.

By this time I was pissed.

I had no access to call the owner or Fritz. I had no number to call a locksmith or anyone in the event of an emergency related to this place. I was there, kneeling in the light casting through the glass door of the beer fridge, running through thought of what to do.

I despised my only option: waking Margeaux for assistance.

I leap into action, walking to the casita where she and Jean had moved to due to their close proximity to the loud nights of Dj Magdalene.

I whisper, loudly:

“Margeaux

“Margeaux, Jean.”

I hear a bit of rustling on the other side of the screened window.

“I’m so sorry to wake you. I need to call Fritz.”

In a confused french accent, she says: “What happened?”

“Somehow the key snapped and is lodged inside the lock. I can’t get the gate open and need to call for a locksmith. Some guests have just left to catch flights without their IDs!!! Do you have the number to call the owner or Fritz?”

She too whispers, loudly: “Um, no ….” Her voice a little more frantic as she dresses.

Jean wakes and chimes in asking what is happening and is also slightly panicked that this scene is unfolding at this hour. It’s still before daybreak.

She opens the door, eyes opened wide and asks: What happened?

In complete disbelief and disappointment, I explained as I twisted the key, it broke.

The puzzling aspect: I never felt any resistance while attempting to unlock this lock. This is why I was not believing what I was seeing. I could only question how it could have happened.

I head back to the front desk. Margeaux is close behind…and Jean eventually joins us at the desk.

I ask which is Magdalene’s room, because she was the only person who had a direct contact with the owner and Fritz at home.

I rush to her room, waking and explaining everything to her. She says she’ll meet me up front, and will contact the owner.

She does, via a Whatsapp message.

There was no immediate response and she said she’d go back to sleep, citing Margeaux, Jean and I were there to ‘handle it’

UGH!

Incredibly worried about being the reason people would miss their flights or whatever, I felt AWFUL. I looked for ways to gain entry, no matter the cost.

On the back wall of the locked space, was a window, of sorts, constructed from decorative bricks. One had a small missing section, in what I assumed was a nefarious break-in. At this point I was ready to break a few of this bricks myself.

Through the window we could see the box of IDs. Again, this was my main concern, because of the possibility of guests checking out.

The three of us try hatching a best laid plan, I decided that an option would be to use a long-handled tool, stick or pipe to attempt finishing the the box out.

We disperse and gather some options.

I arrive at the fishing hole where I see Jean using a MacGyvered ‘shovel’ made from a long wooden stick with a flat, round pizza pan attached.

I stand there with bated breath, just hoping he didn’t push the box onto the floor as he attempted slide the pan under it.

SUCCESS!

The box is onto the pan.

Slowwwly, he begins to raise and then draw the pole out of the broken section of this window.

I didn’t breathe until the box was in hand.

Jean grabs it and gives it to Margeaux.

Ohkay.

At this point, we’re at the end of my shift, so I didn’t make a big deal of that.

Frazzled, I sit at the bar, watching various people trickle in and around us as the story is repeated over and over again anytime someone noticed the gate was still closed.

It’s after 9am. Fritz normally shows around this time.

I’m posted up so I can be the first person to see and deliver the bad news. I sensed there would be some anger, or at the very least annoyance. My intent was to pay any cost incurred, because this happened on my watch. And when Margeaux heard my intentions she was quick to say, “don’t do that.”

This is where the rest of the day’s struggle began.

Le Sigh.

Her position was that was the cost of doing business. I disagreed and stated so.

I was of the position that I was giving two hours of my time in exchange for accommodations, and I didn’t see it responsible to leave that damage up to the owner.

She harped on about why she felt that wasn’t necessary and I ignored her.

As person after person inquired about the door, I grew a bit annoyed. I don’t like gossip, and it was getting to be too much, because I still felt bad about the fact that this had happened on my watch.

On Italian woman tried to assure me it was not my fault and okay. I wasn’t buying that. I was okay accepting responsibility, pay to have it resolved and wished everyone would simply shut up going on about it.

But no, Margeaux showed her colors. She stated: Fritz is going to be angry, but I hope he doesn’t get mad at us (her and Jean), about the situation.

[insert needle scratch here]

“WHAT?!” is all I hear being screamed in my head as I look up after she finished that sentence. What does she mean, making this about her and Jean? And about how they saved the day?!

You would think I was some inept fool, and that it took them to solve it.

Um, no. You were asked for a way to get in touch with the owner or Fritz or a damn locksmith. You were not there to make this about how you two had saved the day because no one else was capable.

The nerve.

I was utterly done with her.

The is the same energy I could feel about her early on in my interactions with her, and why I said she was not of my tribe and whey it was a must I stay clear of her.

I sit, and sit, and sit…for hours. Normally, I would have been out roaming around taking in the back streets and people watching than hanging in this place during the day. But this morning I sit, waiting to be the to tell Fritz what I had done.

10am comes and goes.

We never hear from Magdalene if there was a response from the Whatsapp message sent before 7am.

11am: Fritz rides up on his scooter.

We strolls in and I walk towards the front desk with him telling him about what happen when he walks behind the desk, looks at the bottom of the door and process the gate is down, because lock is still on the door.

Red faced and bulging eyes: “SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT. FUCK!”, is what he exclaims.

As his back is to me, I say that I’m willing to cover the cost of the lock and locksmith. He turns around heading towards the door and literally avoids eye contact with me. That is when I broke and began crying a bit. The anger and then disrespect I felt was overwhelming. How could you avoid me as if I don’t deserve the time of day when I’ve done everything in my power to, not only contact you and the owner, your girlfriend, but get the people who have been there a little longer than I have to assist with contacting you and trying to have the issue resolve long before you ever showed.

I. Was. Firey. ANGRY.

He literally walk back out the front door without saying a word.

The Italian woman tries to console me, as Margeaux grows increasingly nervous that she and Jean’s opportunity may be in jeopardy. She utters this shit from her mouth: “Jean and I solved the problem. We did everything.”

U.G.H. I was so damn done with her spineless, constantly speaking in falsetto with the tone of a damsel in distress, she was so damn manipulative.

I stayed in the area until Fritz returned. He walked in with a man, the locksmith.

I ask Fritz about the fee. He blows me off with “I don’t know yet”.

He’s really not wanting to be bothered with me, and I’m increasingly angry that I’m wanting to right this wrong and am being treated like an unwanted child. I sit at bar watching the locksmith. Fritz next to him, he asks if I can’t hold the flashlight directed on the lock. I’m sure he would have avoided even speaking to me if anyone else were there. That’s just how rude he was. I was blown away by the childishness of it all.

The locksmith drills a series of small holes down the length of this three-quarter inch thick rectangular lock.

[Ping] I hear metal drop to the concrete floor.

He has cracked the code and popped this lock.

I ask the cost of his labor.

He replies: ciento cincuenta pesos.

I reach for some cash.

Margeaux admonishes: “You shouldn’t do that. Don’t pay him.”

Handing him the money: “I’m paying him.”

“But you shouldn’t. That’s not your responsibility. It’s a business and they can pay for it.”

“You do know I can choose to do this, right?!”

Snipping at me: “Fine, you can pay him. It’s your money”

Me, in a curt tone without even looking in her direction: “It is. And THAT’S why I’m doing it.”

I give the locksmith the two hundred pesos, and take the change.

Feeling better I walk towards the pool to sit in the sun and try salvaging some of the day and sunlight. I see Fritz and ask the cost of the lock. He responds 400 perhaps, but he doesn’t know and will ask Rema, his girlfriend and absent owner.

He had a slight slimy guilty vibe about him when answering. But I didn’t care, because I now felt better that I was making these people whole. So, instead of waiting for him to get back to me with the cost, I shoved a few hundred pesos in his hand and asked if that were enough.

His posture was very different at this point; almost feeble and cowardice and less than a man who was accepting this cash from the woman he could stand to even look at nearly one hour earlier.

I felt great!

If I were him, I never would have accepted that money. But given the state of the place, it was obvious they were hurting for money.

I felt I had beaten the vibes I was getting from these people into utter submission. It may not have mattered to them, but it sure as hell mattered greatly to me.

Raunchy I know, but I was giving them all parts of my ass to kiss.

About an hour later, I am sitting poolside, at a table next to two ‘tenants’ playing a game of chess, as Fritz is walking in our general direction.

As he passes me walking to sit in on the game, he says: “Heeeyyy. The lock wasn’t as much as you gave me. I owe you some change.”

I nod “okay”, thinking he was about to give it to me. He doesn’t.

Ohkay.

About ten minutes later, I see a truck delivering some plywood. I see Fritz meet and pay the man. He, only then, comes to me passing me about one hundred sixty pesos.

The next couple days, I see the old drilled lock is still being used. This tips my cup and has me questioning my beliefs system.

I ask: Am I decent?

 



4 responses to “I AM. Adulting”

  1. […] I dubbed it Operation Lockgate. […]

  2. Tuli says:

    Loved reading it!

  3. […] thanks me for my time and attempts to resolve the issue of my being upset over the lock issue and he display of anger. He cited he’d German and curses, and that I and no one else should take it personally, as he […]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Subscribe: email