Breaking And . . . Almost . . . Entering

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
A woman locks herself out of her trailer.

Submitted: October 27, 2007

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Submitted: October 27, 2007



Years ago, my boyfriend and Tom and I lived in a small trailer in Del Paso Heights, California.  Ours was one of several trailers in the lot, but there was about fifteen feet or so between trailers.

I had a friend from college back then.  Her name was "Melissa", and one sunny afternoon, she came over to the trailer because the three of us were going to drive somewhere together.  I was actually going to drive her car, since she wasn't comfortable in heavy traffic.  Her little car was an automatic, which was perfect for me, and the seat pulled up far enough for me to reach the pedals easily.  (I'm only 4' 8", and don't you DARE laugh!  I can see you right through the computer screen.)

Melissa came into the trailer for a few minutes while I made some last-minute preparations, and then the three of us walked out the front door and down the steps.  We had almost reached Melissa's car when I realized that I had left my purse in the trailer.  I walked up the front steps and put my hand in the pocket of my jeans to pull out the front door key.  My heart sank as I found no set of keys in there.  I had left the keys in the trailer!  They were in a special compartment of my purse, and when IO left my purse in the trailer, I had also inadvertently locked us out.

We walked around to the "back door" of the trailer (which was on the same side as the front door) and tried the knob, hoping that it was unlocked.  No such luck.  I had locked it as a matter of habit so that no intruder could break in.  Now that I was the "intruder", I had no way of retrieving my purse.

"Wait!" Tom suggested.  "What about the back window?"

The back window was on the tail end of the trailer and opened up over our waterbed.  It was certainly accessible and could be opened from the outside.  The problem was that it was too high for me to climb into. 

Melissa was taller, but she was heavier than I was, and there was no way that Melissa and I could lift Tom into the small window opening.  (At that time, Tom weighed over two hundred pounds.)  I was elected to break into the trailer, since I was the smallest and lightest.  Unfortunately, there was nothing in the area that was high enough to stand on.  Tom and Melissa would have to hoist me up to the window manually.

I was wearing a stretchy black skirt at the time, because the plan was for us to go to a cocktail bar and have a few drinks.  This particular bar was also well-known for its baked potato skins, and for the fire that was always lit in the center of a shallow, lighted pool in the middle of the room.  The place was classy, and customers were expected to wear formal attire. 

Thankfully, my black skirt was nice and stretchy, so it didn't get in the way of my climbing through the window.

Tom and Melissa pushed me up toward the back window.  Tom let out a long wolf-whistle.

"What?!" I inquired, irritably.

"I like those panties," he commented.  Melissa started laughing.

"Shut up and push!" I demanded. 

They gathered all their strength and slowly lifted me up toward the window.  With a final shove, I found myself inside the opening with my short legs dangling below me.  I tried and failed to get myself all the way through the opening.

"No!" I groaned.

Tom was suddenly concerned.  "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm stuck!" I yelled.

"Great," he commented.  "Try to wiggle your butt back and forth," he suggested.

"It won't budge," I countered. 

The aluminum sash fit snugly around my ample caboose, framing it like a piece of modern art. 

"Boy, what a target!" Tom teased.

"You toucha my butt, I breaka your face!" I threatened.

I perched helplessly inside the window, my hind end sticking way out of the opening.  I was glad I had worn my black satin underwear instead of my white cotton ones.

Melissa, who had a highly developed sense of humor, got tickled at the sight of my protruding posterior.  Soon all three of us were laughing.

"You know, Tom, I have a disposable camera in my glove compartment.  It was just take me a second to get it . . ."

"No!" I begged Melissa, between fits of laughter.

"Alright, this is what we're going to do," Tom said, suddenly taking charge of the situation again.  "I'll take the left cheek and you take the right.  On the count of three, we'll both push as hard as we can, okay?"

"Okay," said Melissa.

"One, two, three . . . "

Before I could protest, I was unceremoniously shoved forward through the window.  I lurched forward, my legs following behind me.  There was no time to be afraid of the drop to the waterbed below, and a second later, Tom and Melissa heard the telltale sound of sloshing as I crawled across the waterbed to get to the door of the bedroom.

I found my purse on the counter in the bathroom.  I had been applying my makeup in there and had apparently set it down beside myself as I worked.  The keys were in the special compartment, and within a few seconds I was out the front door with the keys in my hand.

All three of us had a fabulous time that night at the cocktail bar, and when we came back later that evening, we elected to use the front DOOR to get in, instead of the back WINDOW.  At least my hind end could fit through IT without getting STUCK!


















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