It’s been a busy week with a lengthy track meet and commencement. Too busy to write. Instead, take a look at what was happening 10 years ago.
BY DAVID GREEN
It all began as a typical Monday night. I worked until I knew I should really go to bed, that if I stayed up any later I wouldn’t be worth much in the big crunch day. That’s Tuesday, the day we put the paper together and head out for the printer. They day we acknowledge our deadline, add a couple hours to it, and dive into the fray.
As it turned out Monday night/Tuesday morning, I probably should have stayed at work. I walked home, grabbed the front door knob and turned it to see if the door was left unlocked. Strange; the knob wouldn’t turn. I unlocked the door but the knob still wouldn’t turn.
Rosanna! I knew she was the one. I heard her name mentioned in connection with this problem a couple days earlier. There’s a little button on the edge of the door; push it and that door is locked from the outside, key or no key.
I went around to the back and found another locked door. I returned to the front and started pounding. No response. I pounded some more. Then I remembered the door to the basement in the garage, That was locked too.
“Colleen!” I’m yelling out her name as loud as I dare without waking the neighbors. “Colleen!” Then I quickly add, “The door is locked,” in case a neighbor is listening and wondering. At this point I’ve climbed the TV antenna and I’m yelling in through a screen window. Still no response. I’m probably giving the kids nightmares.
Back to the porch, back to pounding, back to nothing. I’m on the street looking for shelter. Nowhere to go. No warm clothing on a chilly night. I finally settle for the back seat of the car with all the crumbs and left over french fries. I find two kids’ jackets—one for a sheet and one for a blanket—and before long I’m off to sleep.
It’s light when I wake up. Too light to use the back yard as a bathroom, so I’m back at the front door pounding. Now I’m getting somewhere. I hear footsteps. Here comes Colleen running down the stairs.
She opens the door and I walk in with my head turned to one side, unable to straighten it out. The back seat did something to my neck. I’m not exactly standing up straight, either, and I’m close to shivering.
Colleen gave me appropriate sympathy as I explained my fate, but as I headed off to the bathroom, I could hear howls of laughter.
I got some much needed rest—at least an hour—and came down to warm up with a hot bowl of oatmeal. A great way to start off a summer day.
Sympathy, then laughter. And come to think of it, here’s what she asked me when I finally crawled into bed: “Did you take the garbage out?”– June 5, 2002