‘Pay no attention to the tattooed gaijin in a wife beater climbing through the second story window,’ I muttered as I hosted myself first up on top of the water heating unit, then onto the roof of our bicycle port, all the while hoping the local police didn’t happen to drive by at that moment.
Chieko had pulled away minutes earlier, on her way to drop Ray off at daycare and then do some errands until picking him up again at 12:30. Being a dutiful husband, I had offered to bring Ray down to the car since Chieko had several bags in hand. Upon bidding them adieux I returned to the front door, only to find it locked. Thank you darling. I ran out into the street and waved feverishly, to no avail. It was 9:15.
No problem, I thought. The back slider is probably unlocked, and if not the window must be. Nope. Maybe I can finagle the screen of the open kitchen window. It’s small but I could worm my through and onto the kitchen counter. Nope. Shit. Three hours sitting in the sun did not sound good, not to mention I was missing a Red Sox game and I had a paper to work on. My cellphone was inside, and even if I could bum a phone from a neighbor I can’t remember Chieko’s number.
I made several feverish laps around the house, cursing my wife and somewhat frantically looking for ways to get back in the house.
Pretty much every window on the second floor, along with the slider in bedroom, was open. But how to get there? I might be able to get on the air conditioning unit and hoist myself up onto the sunroom, from where I could pull myself over the balcony outside of our bedroom. Too sketchy. Should I just break a window? Not yet.
I walked around to the bicycle port, a narrow structure with a corrugated steel roof, above which resides a small window. Next to the bicycle port sits a six-foot tall water heating behemoth. Promising.
Thirty seconds later I was back inside, with my shoes on. Take that.
I texted Chieko: ‘Thanks for locking me out of the house, genius.’
In the meantime, the Red Sox have lost, and I’ve realized that I left the printout of the paper I intended to edit in my office yesterday. Who’s the genius?