When the Universe is bored and decides to play you like a cat drunk on catnip.
Original Post Date: 12.22.2020. Revised: 07.19.2025
Three weeks ago, a tree fell on my house.
To be more precise, two trees and a towering twig bowed to the forces of nature—unable to bear the burden of one of the heaviest snowstorms I’ve experienced in more than twenty years of living in this neighborhood.
Fortunately, they were pine trees, so they didn’t cause much damage. The largest of them bowed like an operatic diva taking her final curtain call. It was so expansive that when I opened the garage door, I was met by a wall of broken snow-covered branches and thousands of dried out pine needles.
The condo association called in a tree removal service, and the fallen giants were hauled off to their final resting place. What remains now are three stumps sitting like cemetery markers, waiting for spring when they can be ground down.
I was lucky. No one was hurt. Minimal damage to the house.
But something felt off. I had this strange sensation that another shoe was about to drop. (At least, I hoped it was a shoe… and not another tree.)
Right on cue, a few days later, I locked myself out of the house.
To be more precise: in the twenty-minute gap between opening the garage door and returning from a morning walk, the battery in the garage opener died. You’d think a device like that would offer a heads-up—maybe wink at you and flash a secret code: “Hey lady, I’m on my last charge. How about replacing me today? And by the way, you’ll need a 9-volt. I don’t do AAs.” But no.
My keys were inside. My intent had been to take a brisk walk and return to my toasty warm home via the garage door. Instead, I was left stranded in my driveway, thinking to myself, “Now what?”
Since pondering the mysteries of the Universe wasn’t helping at this moment in time, I did the next best thing and called the non-emergency police line. Mid-dial, I caught the attention of my neighbor who was walking her dog. I explained what happened, and she immediately offered her husband’s help to check the garage door opener.
By now, a police officer had arrived as well.
“Any windows unlocked?” he asked.“
No, sir.”
“Sliding patio door?”
“Locked. And there’s a rod in the channel.”
“Back garage door?”
“Bolted.”
“Well… it’s good that you exercise that level of caution.”
“...Thanks.”
I wanted to ask if the SWAT team was free this morning, and if so, could they swing by and pummel my door with that battering ram they use on TV. Instead, I frantically Googled locksmiths and called the first 24/7 number I saw.
“I’m locked out of my house,” I explained. “Can someone come right away?”
“Someone will be there shortly,” he chirped—then hung up.
Before I could clarify his definition of “shortly,” I found myself pacing the driveway like a three-year-old waiting for Santa.
Twenty minutes passed. I called again.
“Oh,” he said. “I can have someone there by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s 30 degrees. You want me to stand here for nineteen hours until someone shows up?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is that inconvenient?”
“Is it inconvenient?! Sir, I didn’t misplace the key to a diary—I locked myself out of my house. Yes. Please cancel this call.”
I dialed the next locksmith on the list.
“I’ll be there in 32 minutes,” he said.
Impressed by his specificity, I told the officer I’d be fine. He left. My neighbor and I resumed our driveway pacing. After a few laps, she said, “I’m getting my car. We’ll wait inside until he arrives.”
Thirty-two minutes later, Locksmith #2 pulled in and went straight to work. From the warmth of my neighbor’s SUV, we watched him drill... stop... drill... stop...
Finally, I went to check in with him. “How’s it going?”
He paused, carefully placed the drill on the welcome mat, looked at me... then the drill... then back at me.
“So far, I’ve broken ten drill bits trying to get this door open. This is the toughest lock I’ve worked on in fifteen years. Hell, no one was ever breaking into this place.”
“I’m... sorry?”
“I’ll get it eventually.”
He picked up the drill. I tiptoed back to the SUV.
Half an hour later, my modern-day Samson broke through. He had to drill out the bolt, install a new one, and recalibrate my key to fit.
I nearly mowed him down on my way back inside.
Finally, I thought. Both shoes have dropped. I’m safe.
Until...
The brand-new holiday decorations I’d hung on the front door collapsed, shattering across the front lawn. As I bent to pick them up, I realized I had placed the two outdoor planters too close to the screen door—effectively locking myself in the house.
Some days, huh?
What’s the most ridiculous series of events you’ve lived through… all in one day? Tell me your version of “when the Universe is bored. ”
“If the House Is A-Rockin’” is a 1989 song by Stevie Ray Vaughan and Doyle Bramhall.
