Category: Uncategorized
Trouble in Paradise
The Road Less Traveled
And We’re Off
Check out my posts on my other site about our epic road trip adventure!
It’s a Black & White Problem
I know it’s been awhile. I haven’t traveled nearly as much as I used to the past couple years, so travel stories haven’t been as abundant.
However, I’ve realized even when life isn’t in the clouds, my Life On The Ledge still has things to share. Although the characters are different, the entertainment value is still strong.
So back by popular demand (or no demand at all) the all new view from my Life on the Ledge!
This story starts in the black of night.
Right before I’m headed off to bed, my trusty four footed companions decide to do their excited dance at the door. I figure the chances are about 90/10 that the dance is due to some uninvited visitor in the yard vs upset tummies that were going to wake me up in the middle of the night with the need to use the bathroom. I hesitate for a minute, but decide that despite the low odds, I really did not want to be woken up in the middle of the night, so I opened the door and let them out.
As soon as the door opened and they took off around the garage, I knew I played the wrong odds.
Sure enough, their run was soon accompanied by their “Oh, look! A new friend!” bark.
I gave it a minute or two, then called for them to come back in. Not only did they not appear, but I recognized their “Hey look! We want to show you what we found!” barks, so I grabbed my flashlight and decided to go look so we could all go to bed.
I came around the garage and the flashlight found the pups hanging out in front of the chicken coop.
Followed quickly by lighting the black and white fluffy friend running around inside the chicken run.
Luckily, when I gave a quick yell to the pups, they came running back to the house with me, and I decided our little skunk friend could show himself out.
Apparently, Pavi’s experience last year getting sprayed in the mouth by a skunk (Yes. Directly. In. The. Mouth) was enough for him to learn to leave the black and white kitties alone and he had avoided the spray.
Ember, however, had not had the chance to learn that lesson.
She seemed to only have gotten a glancing blow on her neck, though, which I quickly scrubbed with dish soap and vinegar before it could set in, and the smell remained quite mild, considering.
Bullet dodged.
So off to bed we go to a great night sleep.
Bright and early the next morning, we’re downstairs and ready to start the day.
Somehow, even before my coffee, my brain kicks in enough for me to think maybe I should just go double check that our guest had made his way back to his own home over night before I let the dogs out.
I was really glad I did, because sure enough, as the chicken coop comes into view, there is our Oreo colored friend, still running back and forth in the run.
Hmm. Why did he choose to stick around? Surely there are more exciting places to explore than my chicken run.
The chickens had dug a hole in the corner of the run, which I had covered with chicken wire to keep them from escaping, and I realize Oreo had pushed up under the wire from the outside to get in. But now that he was in, he was standing on the wire, so couldn’t burrow back under it to get out , so now he was trapped.
Which means now I have to get close enough to the coop to let him out.
My run has two sections to it, a larger one and a smaller one. Both sections have doors in them, and since Oreo is currently running back and forth in the smaller section, I decide my best bet is to open the door in the larger section.
So I very slowly make my way towards the door, keeping my eye on Oreo the whole way.
At first, he is too focused on his panicked pacing to notice me, but just as I get into range to touch the door, he stops and looks at me.
So I stop and look at him.
I figure as long as I’m seeing the two-eyed side of him, I’m safe. It’s the one-eyed side I need to avoid.
So I keep my eyes on him and slowly reach out and open the door.
Once I get it open, I quickly retreat around the corner of the barn, and watch from a safe distance.
But Oreo has just resumed his frantic pacing along the back stretch and seems unaware his path to freedom is behind him.
That’s fine. I’ll go inside, get some breakfast and coffee, and surely he’ll be gone by the time I’m done.
Except he isn’t.
I load the dogs into the car for our morning walk and go to check, and Oreo is still doing his military march on the back of the chicken run.
Now what?
I decide maybe I need to open the door that is closer to his pacing path.
And also about 3 ft from Oreo’s business end.
I find one of Pavi’s strategically placed, enormous sticks lying between me and the coop (Now I realize he wasn’t creating a mowing obstacle course, but a home defense system!), so I grab it and again slowly advance into the danger zone.
I use the stick to flip the latches on the door, but I can’t get the right angle to pull the door open with it, so I have no choice but to creep in and pull the door open.
But I make it! And now Oreo has a clear escape path just 3 ft behind him.
I take the dogs for our walk, and when we get back an hour later, this time I’m sure Oreo has moved on.
And yet again, I’m wrong.
Not only is Oreo still pacing the perimeter, one of the chickens, who had still been shut up in the inside coop, had somehow let herself out, and was now pacing around with our black and white friend.
2 doors standing wide open to the outside world, and both of them are just getting their steps in the cage.
Obviously time to regroup.
Oreo is now in the larger run area, but also under the inside coop. As far from the doors as it is possible to get. The chicken is hanging out by the open door, so I figure I need to shut the doors and figure out how to corral Matilda before I can continue trying to encourage Oreo to move on.
I decide if I can try to corral Matilda in the smaller area I might be able to grab her and remove her from the equation, so I go get some grain and throw it down in that area to lure her in.
Sure enough, she takes the bait.
But as soon as I open the little door to try to nab her, she squawks and runs the other way.
Straight at Oreo. And straight into his smelly shower.
Somehow, I still avoid becoming collateral damage, but now Matilda is not happy and squawking and flapping, and Oreo is even more agitated.
Perfect conditions to continue with Plan Rescue.
Matilda finally calms down enough to go back to the grain and I’m able to grab her.
So now I’m standing hugging a skunk stink chicken.
Somewhere along my quest of collecting useless trivia, I had remembered hearing that once a skunk sprays, they are unable to spray again until their supplies replenish, so I had googled that earlier in the morning to see if I might be able to use that to my advantage, knowing he had sprayed the dogs last night.
While it is true, they can actually spray 5-6 times before they deplete their supply.
So I do debate, for a minute, whether I should just throw the chicken at Oreo 4 more times to run him dry, but quickly decide I’m unlikely to come out of that plan unscathed.
I stuff Matilda back in the coop through the nest boxes and reach in and lock the door so none of the other girls get the bright idea of trying to join the party.
Then I swing the outside doors wide open again.
Meanwhile, Oreo continues his frantic marching.
Now what?
I grab what is left of my blackberries from the fridge and again venture back to the danger zone. I toss a handful of berries back towards Oreo and then strew the rest of them to the door and out.
There. Plan Hansel and Gretel is sure to work.
I head inside to give Oreo the room he needs.
An hour or so later, I again make my way out to the chicken coop. Only to see Oreo still running back and forth.
Really??
I had already tried a stick to attempt to prod Oreo towards the exit, but it wasn’t very effective through the wire of the run.
Which is how I find myself doing something I never thought I would be doing .
Throwing rocks at a skunk.
Oreo is still pacing as far away from the door as possible, so I start throwing rocks at the coop near Oreo to get him to move in the other direction.
And it works! Oreo runs to the other end of the run- right past the two open doors (and over all the blackberries) and resumes pacing on the other end.
Old Oreo is proving to be a formidable opponent.
Apparently Oreo is only going to go out the same way he came in.
Except now Oreo is pacing directly over the entry point.
So now I’m throwing rocks again to get Oreo back to the other end he just came from.
Once he is safely back at the far end- again- I move in, tug the wire out from the bottom of the run, prop up the corner with a piece of wood, and move in for the final volley.
Back to the other end of the run to throw rocks-again- to move Oreo back to his chance at freedom.
Finally!
Oreo gets back to open corner, slips back out under the coop, and disappears under the fence.
And I survived 3 hours of battle with a skunk without getting sprayed once.
Victory!
Hopefully chickens don’t have a strong sense of smell, because their coop was not so lucky.
How Pintrest Almost Killed My Father
I think we all have to admit Pintrest is a genius invention. I don’t know who had the brilliant idea to translate the cork boards every kid in the 80s and 90s had on their bedroom walls, filled with completely random and quickly forgotten items that could easily be punctured with a push pin, to a digital experience, but I wish it had been me.
Admittedly, my Pintrest account closely resembles those jumbled cork boards, and honestly, I use it more as a Google alternative now, to see what others may have pinned, but my Mom is a Pintrest guru.
I really don’t know how many cork boards she has, or how well organized her Pintrest is, but I do know she is Pintrest level Master when she actually sends me pins that she thinks will fill that empty spot on my cork board perfectly. I don’t even know how to do that.
And when I happen to mention something like “ you know I was thinking I need to pull together my alien invasion survival kit”, my Mom will be quick to respond with “oh, you should check out Pintrest! They have lots of great ideas on there”
And they do, btw. My personal favorite is the “6 tips to survive Alien invasion- A Dame’s Handbook”
One board I’m pretty sure my Mom has though, is “Essential Life Hacks You Can’t Live without”.
She always has a new time saver/make life easier trick she is trying out- one of the most recent ones involving a toilet brush.
During a Pintrest session, my Mom came across a pin containing the nifty life hack of sticking the toilet brush under the toilet seat to let it dry over the toilet after using it. So of course she decided to try this out the next time she scrubbed the toilets, and left the toilet brush safely secured under the seat in my parent’s master bath.
She however, neglected to let my Dad know about this hack, or about the toilet brush drying itself over the toilet.
My Dad, waking up sometime in the middle of the night, and doing what we all do, stumbled to the bathroom in the dark, most likely with eyes only partially open to prevent waking up too much during the journey.
And he barely survived the heart attack he nearly suffered when he found himself being attacked by a porcupine in his own bathroom in the dark in the middle of the night.
Luckily, “death by Pintrest” will not be on my father’s tombstone- this time.
And I’m pretty sure he has set up auto alerts anytime something is added to my Mom’s Life Hacks cork board.
The Rare Land Shoe Shark
This week has been a tough week. Not a horrible news, events that change your life kind of tough. But the nothing goes as planned, little fire drills everywhere, super busy but feeling like nothing got accomplished kind of tough.
So it seemed like a good Friday evening to spend at the beach.
The pups and I had been chasing sticks, splashing in the water and having a generally fabulous time for about 5 minutes or so, when we were joined by an older gentleman and his pup. I had met this guy a few times on our beach trips and always exchanged a few words, and then we both continued on our way, so I was hoping that’s what would happen this time. Not because I was especially anti social, but I had done enough talking to people for the week and really just wanted to throw sticks.
But he had other plans for the evening.
We started out just chit chatting about this and that, but soon he was sharing about all the time he had spent in the South Pacific, India and Asia back in the 80s. Ok, kind of a cool story and great adventure, so I was engaged. Pavi was slightly perturbed that my stick throwing was lagging somewhat with this interruption of conversation, but Ember was perfectly happy romping around with the new pup friend and annoying her brother.
And then suddenly the conversation shifted to aliens and UFOs and I found myself listening to his account of his up close and personal encounter with these beings while in Thailand.
I have to admit I was having a little trouble following the whole story, but I do know it entailed several people telling him he needed to put clothes back on, that he couldn’t be naked on he beach, him getting arrested while naked, aliens visiting him in jail and a gigantic white creature glowing with blue light appearing at the end of the pier
Apparently he made no connection between those events and the bag of whacky tobacky he had purchased from some random guy on the side of the road or the magic pills he apparently kept finding in his pocket and taking throughout this ordeal, but one has to wonder….
During this fascinating story, a group of 6, who I assumed was a family with older teen/ young adult children, had wandered down to the beach and were clustered just next to us. After a slight invitation from the daughter, my social Ember decided to act as the beach welcoming committee and pranced over to say hello to her new friends. They were delighted to meet her, and she ate up the attention. She even came back to grab a stick and returned to show them the quality of stick specimens our beach has to offer. Then it was back to romping with her brother and her new four legged friend.
My companion had wrapped up his alien story, but suddenly, as I just finish throwing a stick, he says “can I see your hand?” as he simultaneously grabs said hand.
Which is how I find myself getting my palm read on the beach.
While this is rather awkward, he seems harmless enough, if maybe a little lonely and maybe more than a little affected by the long term effects of whacky tobacky, so I decide to just let him stare at my palm lines for a minute or two and let him come up with whatever he thinks he sees.
Meanwhile, the family has decided to shed their footwear and go wading in the ocean.
If there is one thing my sweet little Ember cannot resist, it’s an abandoned shoe. More times than I can count, I have had to go in chase of a shoe, often into the yard with no shoes on. Even the split second they are left unattended while putting them on or taking them off, is too much for her to bear, and she feels the need to rescue the poor shoe from a life of abandonment.
And now there is a whole pile of unattended shoes just lying on the beach calling her name.
Just as I am about to find out about the 2 real loves of my life reflected in my palm, I see Ember streak past us straight into the pile of shoes.
Luckily, we’ve had lots of practice with “drop it!” and “bring it!”, so I was able to disengage my hand, while yelling these to her, and she dropped the shoe right on the water line before plunging into the ocean.
I returned the shoe to the pile while offering my apologies, but the family found the whole thing quite hilarious and were quite entertained by the whole ordeal. Just to be sure, Ember ran over to the dad, whose shoe I’m guessing it was, and offered a wet nose in his palm as an apology.
And now that family has a good story to write in their vacation blog.
And I will have to find another opportunity for a random beach palm reading to find out how long my lifeline is.
The Death of Muskrat
I know being stuck at home with quarantine and social distancing can start to feel old and mundane. But I am here to share a story that shows even home can be an exciting place to be.
It started Thursday night when I happened to notice some animal had been hit by a car across the street from the end of my driveway. I did a double take, hoping it wasn’t someone’s cat or small dog, and once I determined it was only a muskrat, I didn’t give it much thought, assuming the road crew, or whomever was in charge of disposing of road kill would be along eventually to do their thing.
Last evening, the dogs and I went out in the yard for our nightly game of ball, when Ember suddenly perked up and took off toward the end of the driveway. I turned to see a crow take off at the same time, and caught up to Ember just as both she and I realized the birds had picked up the muskrat and decided to use the end of my yard as their dining table for their dinner.
I grabbed Ember just as she grabbed hold of a piece of Muskrat’s innards that apparently seemed too appealing to leave.
And I was left with no choice but to yank them out of her mouth and throw them back to the birds.
Needless to say, the rest of the evening was spent with her visiting every window, trying to convince me to let her out to finish her dessert, and me trying to recover from the forced, and way too up close encounter with dead things, and trying to decide if I could make do without that contaminated hand for the rest of my life.
That would have been bad enough, but of course the story doesn’t end there.
This morning, I get up, hopeful that the crows and turkey vultures, have finished their dinner, and cleaned the remains from the dining table that is my lawn.
But of course they haven’t, and Muskrat lay right where he was left.
And now it’s Saturday, so even if I wanted to call the town office and ask how to get in touch with the roadkill crew, there is no way to do this until Monday.
So I am forced to take matters into my own hands, and find myself out on my lawn with a shovel and a Hefty bag, cleaning up Muskrat’s remains. I decide I have little choice but to make my first trip to the dump in my new home town.
Not only is this my first trip to the dump, but also my first experience dealing with road kill, so I really have no idea what proper protocol is, and as I pull in, I stop at the attendant station to explain the situation and figure out where I’m supposed to take poor Muskrat.
“I don’t think we take road kill here” is the response I get.
“Well, what am I supposed to do with it then?”
” You can talk to the boss. That’s him right over there”
I walk over to The Boss, and again explain the situation.
And again get “We don’t take roadkill here” as the response.
And again I ask “What am I supposed to do with it then?”
“You can bury it”
“Where?”
“Just in your yard”
Planning a Muskrat funeral was not exactly top of my to-do list for the day. And starting an animal graveyard in my yard is not a very appealing option. I’m tempted to ask why, if my yard is an acceptable burial site, the dump is not, but I refrain.
” I can’t bury it in my yard. I have dogs”
“Yeah, if you have dogs, they’ll dig it up.”
I blink at him.
“You could just throw it across to the other side of the road” he replies with a shrug.
I give him the head tilt and more blinks, because I’m truly at a loss as how to reply to that.
I turn to walk back to my car to figure out a plan B, and as I pass the attendant shack, the lady I first spoke to, asked what The Boss had said to do. I told her he was not very helpful, and I was still unsure how I was supposed to dispose of Muskrat.
“Just take it to the woods and dump it. That’s what the cops would do if you called them. I hit a baby deer once and that’s all they did. Let the other animals take care of it”
I don’t know what else to say but to thank her and get back in my car.
I’ve watched enough mob movies to know that a car driving into the woods and tossing a Hefty bag out of the back, or digging a grave to bury a bundle is never viewed as suspicious activity. But that seems to be the only option I am left with.
Had I known how quickly my life would devolve into the seedy underbelly today, I would have had more coffee this morning.
And this is how I find myself driving deep into the woods and disposing of Muskrat in an unmarked grave, wondering again how I landed in the role of clean-up in the death of Muskrat, and if “the dump people made me do it” will hold up under future questioning.
RIP poor Muskrat. RIP.
Is There a Mr. Fix-It In the House?
I thought I had been lucking out the past few months. Not only did a get a bit of a break from traveling so much, the trips I did have to take were relatively smooth and story free.
I should have known the odds would need to right themselves eventually.
I just didn’t expect it all to happen in one trip.
I had a “quick” trip planned to North Carolina this week. Out on Wednesday afternoon, and back Thursday evening. Since there aren’t a lot of direct options for me into Raleigh/Durham, NC, my out flight was a connection in Baltimore.
The flight from Denver to Baltimore was smooth, and even arrived a little early, giving me those few extra minutes to grab some food before boarding leg 2. If I had seen the future, I may have grabbed a little more to eat.
We boarded the Raleigh bound flight on time, but were quickly informed once boarding was complete, that there was a maintenance issue with one of the plane’s navigation systems. Not to worry though. Maintenance was already here addressing the issue, and we hoped to be cleared to leave shortly.
No big deal.
Sure enough, they were back on about 15 minutes later saying maintenance had fixed the issue and we would be pushing back.
They finished up the paperwork, closed the main cabin door, and we pushed back from the gate.
Only to have them immediately put it back in drive and pull us right back up to the gate.
“Sorry, folks. While maintenance did fix the problem with the first navigation system, now the second system is throwing an alert, so we need to have them back to look at that one.”
I can already see where this is headed.
About 10 minutes later the captain is back, this time with a less optimistic message.
They are pulling the plane from service for the night, so we all have to deplane. Please see the agent at the top of the bridge for information on a new plane.
I’ll give them credit. We were off the plane less than 5 minutes before they were sending us to a new gate, with a new plane, and less than 30 minutes later we were all loaded on the new plane.
The problem was, the bags were not so lucky.
We were sitting on the plane for an hour, before the little carts with all the checked bags finally pulled up beside the plane.
At exactly the same moment that the flight attendant came over the intercom to call for help with a medical emergency for a passenger in the back of the plane.
Which meant the bags had to wait to be loaded on the plane until the Emergency Medical Response team could board the plane and get the passenger back off.
Another 45 minutes later, the medical emergency has been taken off for care, the bags have been loaded and they announce they have closed the front door and we will be leaving soon.
Which was evidently just what the man in row 2 was waiting for as his cue. He decides to choose that moment to throw a fit and demand to be let off the plane.
Despite the fact that the flight attendant explained in order to do that they have to get clearance to re-open the door, get ground crew to do so and re-do all the paperwork which will only delay things even further, the man continues to demand to be let off the plane
I’m actually surprised he made off the plane in one piece. I thought the entire plane was going to riot .
Another 30 minutes later, we are FINALLY ready to go. For real this time.
I finally get to my hotel and in bed a little after 12:30AM, and had to be up at 5:30AM for a 7AM meeting. That set my Thursday up to be a great day!
I come out of my early morning meeting to a message that my flight for that afternoon had already been delayed for 3 hours.
You have got to be kidding me!
This time my plane, which was starting it’s day in Burbank, was scheduled to make a pit stop in Denver, on it’s way to pick us up in Raleigh to take us back to Denver.
Evidently, before it could leave Burbank, however, it was pulled due to a flat tire and left Burbank 3 hours late.
Even I can change a tire in less than 3 hours.
So, this is how I find myself landing in Denver, 3 hours later than planned, and then still have to make the drive home when it’s already past my bed time.
Now, not to toot my own horn, but I had done a remarkable job of staying cool and letting all these irritations roll off my back to this point, if I do say so myself. Even though I was beyond tired, I figured the irritations were at least behind me, and all I had to do was make it home.
I should have known better.
I get to my car in the garage, and pull up behind one car in line to pay my for my parking and put the airport behind me.
And I watch as the guy in this car tries 3 times to insert his parking ticket. Then watch as he tries 3 different credit cards to pay his fee. And then continue to sit there, and sit there, and sit there, as he does who knows what. Finally, after about 10 minutes, the arm goes up and I breathe out my irritation as I assume the guy will finally leave.
Except he doesn’t.
I’ve already admitted I was beyond tired, so I assume maybe this guy is too, and possibly he fell asleep behind his wheel and failed to see the arm go up releasing him from parking planet. So I decide to play a gentle alarm on my horn to wake him up and urge him into freedom.
Except he still doesn’t move.
So I toot again.
This elicits him popping his head out of his window and yelling, “Stop that!”
Stop that?? Ummm, what??
Maybe he doesn’t speak horn? He wasn’t able to figure out the message I was trying to send?
So I decide to help him out and translate to plain English for him. I pop my head out of my window and say
“You need to go!”
To which I get,
“I’m not going! They have my license on camera showing I didn’t pay!”
I am beyond confused as to what this guy is missing, but he must be more tired than I am. The arm doesn’t pop up to let you out unless you pay. The arm is clearly up! So, I decide to translate for this guy again.
“The arm is up, so you obviously paid. Now you need to go!”
To which the guy decides to pull his head back in his car, put it in reverse and back it quickly up half the distance to my front bumper.
This seems an interesting move for a guy who was just expressing concern about them having his license plate on camera for not paying, but doesn’t seem concerned about being on camera backing his little car into my SUV.
I get it. Drive and Reverse can be confusing. And this guy is obviously having a difficult time figuring things out at the moment. So I decide to try to help one more time.
I pop my head out the window and say,
“Ummm, you need to go forward…”
Which got him backing another several inches towards my car in response.
Then his head is back out the window and he yells, “I’m not going! If you don’t like it, you can move!”
“Ummm, I’d love to! Except you are in my way, and I can’t!”
Now the parking attendant two booths down starts yelling at the guy that he needs to go, but the guy continues to just sit there.
I try one more time and offer “He’s telling you you can go!” out the window, as the attendant continues to yell at the guy, and the guy continues to sit there.
Finally, another attendant comes out of the main booth and starts to walk towards the guys car. The guy finally decides to move.
After reversing one more time to come as close as he can possibly come to hitting my car, without actually hitting it, he finally puts his car in drive and takes off.
I sure hope he managed to find his way home and to bed a lot easier than he found his way out of DIA parking.
At least I found my way home and to my bed without anymore delays.
The Key is Persistence…
I can’t believe another year is almost over. Time really does fly! And sometimes so do I. Multiple times in a week.
My last trip of the year was one of those. I decided to tack a trip to Maine for an early Christmas into the middle of my two trips to North Carolina for work, which led to 8 days on the road.
Due to these extra days and combination of workwear and casual wear (as well as a Christmas gift or two) I found myself packing in a larger than normal suitcase. Which means I had to check a bag.
My initial connecting flights to North Carolina and my flights to Maine all went off without a hitch.
On my trip back to NC, however, I wasn’t so lucky.
My flight from Maine to Newark was delayed about an hour, but honestly, that’s pretty much the norm, so I wasn’t even that annoyed. I would still make my connection, so what difference did it make which airport I was killing time in?
I made it to Newark, grabbed some water and found my gate. Just in time to hear literally every single phone in the C concourse go off with a weather alert at exactly the same time.
I look at the alert on my phone to see Newark is under a “snow squall” alert.
I’m very confused as I look from my phone to the window, where it is bright and sunny, without a cloud in the sky. Despite having heard the same alert coming from hundreds of other phones, I almost convince myself that the National Weather Service sent an alert for the wrong location.
My flight was still on time, so I wasn’t too concerned about imaginary snow squalls.
About 30 min later, while we are boarding the flight to NC, I look out the window again, this time to see a wall of grey literally erasing the sunny skies inch by inch. Sure enough, by the time the front door is closed, we are in the middle of a full on snow squall. We spend an extra hour on the runway, being de-iced and waiting for the squall to pass.
At least I was able to make good use of the first class seat I had been upgraded to.
We land in NC without further incident, but later than planned, so now I’m starving! I decide to grab food to go on my way to the hotel and just settle in for the night. I happily check in, get to my room, and gobble down my dinner before I decide to open my bag and unpack the few things I’d need for my overnight stay.
Like most suitcases nowadays, my suitcase has TSA approved security locks on it. I, however, have never felt the need to actually use these locks, nor set a personal combination, at any point in the several years I’ve had this bag. Or so I thought.
This time, though, when I try to push the little button to release the zippers and open my bag, nothing happens.
Huh.
I look at the little combination lock next to the zippers and see a set of random numbers. Well, somehow they must have got changed since I dropped my bag off at check in.
I’m sure it was the snow squall.
Not to worry. I’m sure the combination is just the standard factory set combo. So I set the digits to 000, and push the button.
Still nothing.
Hmmm…
I try several other generic combos- 123, 999, 888- all with no success.
Well this is going to be an interesting 24 hours in NC if I can’t get into my suitcase.
I have been known to pick a lock or two in my time- when I’ve locked myself out of my house or car once or twice. I might not know the combo, but if TSA can open my bag with a key, I’m sure I can pop it open too. The only tool I can find to aid in my lock picking efforts, however, is a ball point pen. I’m sure I can adapt.
Roughly 5 min later, not only have I not managed to pick the lock, but I have broken the tip of the pen off into the lock.
If you were the betting type, now would be the time you’d be placing large bets on the odds against me ever getting my bag open again.
I’ll admit I may have been a little frustrated and maybe slightly more worried I’d never get to my favorite pair of jeans locked inside my bag again.
But I’m nothing if not resourceful.
I find myself at the front desk asking if they might have a pair of pliers. Which of course they don’t. They were very sympathetic to my plight, however, and a few minutes later, I am on the elevator, equipped with 2 screwdrivers, a pair of nail clippers and a staple remover. I’m sure this is a lock picking kit any pro would be jealous of.
I try muscling the zippers out of their locks with the screwdrivers with no success. So I decide my best plan of attack is to get the pen nib out of the lock, and try to focus my attention back on the combo.
I try the staple remover to no avail. Did any of you betting types bet on the nail clippers saving the day? They have the perfect pinch to grab the end of the pen tip and ease it out of the lock.
Score one for nail clippers!
I finally decide the only way I’m getting into my suitcase is to figure out the combo that I must have known at some point but have absolutely no idea what it might be now. I pull up a chair, make myself comfy, and start working my way through every one of the 720 possible combinations, 1 digit at a time.
Luckily, the combo I had set at some point in the past, started with a low number, so I had only worked my way through 60 or so of the 720 options, when I hit the button and heard the pop of the zippers releasing.
Success! My favorite jeans were liberated and I was able to show up to work in appropriate work attire the next da!
And I can now add suitcases to my list of lock picking accomplishments. I’m sure this skill will help keep me in the survival group a little longer when the zombies finally invade.
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