Under the right circumstances, I get really excited about being locked out of my house.

The right circumstances mean:
-I’m wearing pants

-I have at least $5 on my person

Being locked out forces you to be spontaneous, and to fend for and entertain yourself with little more than the $5 in your pocket and the pants on your legs. Suddenly the day is full of unknowns. Anything could happen.

This happened to me the other night. I had planned on relaxing at home after a long day at work. Perhaps I’d make a martini, and see if I could cobble together a salad from the herbs I’ve been growing on the back porch (parsley, chives, oregano, basil…that salad would probably have been gross). I was even considering mowing the lawn, which is as high as an elephant’s eye. Then I realized I didn’t have my keys, and no one else was home.

It’s weird not being able to get into your own house. It makes you feel like a drifter, or a ghost, peering in the window at your unreachable possessions, freaking the dog out because he sees you and doesn’t know why you won’t come in.

After skulking around the perimeter of the house looking for an easy way in (i.e., a wide-open window with a ladder in front of it or an unlocked back door), I wandered back down the road and waited for a bus. Not THE bus, but really, any bus that would take me somewhere more interesting.

Waiting for any bus to come along and take you anywhere feels different than waiting for a specific bus to take you somewhere scheduled. It feels awesome! There you are; the wind in your hair, time on your side, destination unknown. For the first twenty minutes. Then it’s boring and annoying, just like waiting for the regular bus.

I ended up in Sullivan Square, where I drank beer, ate Indian food, and watched So You Think You Can Dance. It beat mowing the lawn.