Deja Vu
Right, that's it. T is no longer allowed in bathrooms. I know it's going to be difficult but that's how it's got to be; she's jinxed you see. You may recall back in September she became trapped in a bathroom in our hotel in Florence? Well it happened again yesterday at home. That's right, in the safe, comfortable bosom of Schossadlerflug another saboteur bathroom door lay in wait waiting to pounce. And yesterday morning it pounced. Poor T, trapped in our tiny windowless bathroom with nothing but a collection of lady washing, conditioning, moisturising, cleansing and toning products to keep her company. I was dozing when I realised that she's been gone a little while and then came the little wail of distress. The door opening mechanism had just failed with her trapped inside. You turned the handle and the magic did not occur. The lock worked perfectly but the actual latch? Not so much. In fairness T was much calmer than I, though I am going to put that down to her enforced passivity in the circumstances.
I intend to track down the architect of our flat and give him or her a piece of my mind. Though I hadn't realised until yesterday, because I'd never had cause to look before, the bathroom door in our flat essentially seals itself into the door frame. The old dodge of pushing a credit card over the latch to disengage it doesn't work because you can't get at the edge of the door. I also was unable to pass any cards, tiny screwdrivers or such under the door to T as that too was sealed against the door jamb. It seems to be less of a regular bathroom door and more of an airlock.
A couple of shoves with my shoulder failed to jar anything into working again so I set to work prising the front of the handle cover off and then unscrewing as much of the mechanism as I could get at. Eventually I got the handle off and was able to use a pair of pliers to turn the latch spindle much further round than you could just with handle. This, just, did the trick and we were able to pop the door open, a relief for a freed T and a relief for me as I really needed the little boys' room quite urgently. Needs must when the devil drives as they say.
I intend to track down the architect of our flat and give him or her a piece of my mind. Though I hadn't realised until yesterday, because I'd never had cause to look before, the bathroom door in our flat essentially seals itself into the door frame. The old dodge of pushing a credit card over the latch to disengage it doesn't work because you can't get at the edge of the door. I also was unable to pass any cards, tiny screwdrivers or such under the door to T as that too was sealed against the door jamb. It seems to be less of a regular bathroom door and more of an airlock.
A couple of shoves with my shoulder failed to jar anything into working again so I set to work prising the front of the handle cover off and then unscrewing as much of the mechanism as I could get at. Eventually I got the handle off and was able to use a pair of pliers to turn the latch spindle much further round than you could just with handle. This, just, did the trick and we were able to pop the door open, a relief for a freed T and a relief for me as I really needed the little boys' room quite urgently. Needs must when the devil drives as they say.
Labels: complaints dept, Schossadlerflug
scribbled hastily by Mr Atrocity at 9:28 am
2 Comments:
Maybe she should just not close any bathroom doors all the way anymore. The privacy doesn't seem to be worth the entrapment.
They DO say that. I like when men prove stuff they say. And, once freed of bathrooms and urine, did you set yourselves to pondering what you'd have done if the pair o' pliers hadn't worked? I don't know why, but I always find the post-mortem pretty entertaining.
(Really and truly, my word verification is: brusedd. The word verifiers know a psychic wound when they read one ...)
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