After one very drunken birthday........
I opened my eyes to see my front door. From the outside.

I was standing up, in the communal hall of my flats, in my pants, in February.

Blind panic set in when I realised I had locked myself out of my house at 3am, with no way of getting back in. I was still very drunk at this point.

I started to weigh up my options.

1. Break in.
2. Run half a mile down the road in my pants to call the police
3. Wake up an elderly neighbour who would be no use anyway.

I tried option 1. I spent a good 10 minutes trying to force my arm through my letterbox to reach the door handle. I was spitting on my arm to lubricate it and tearing my arm to shreds at the same time.

Then I started crying. I was freezing cold, almost naked and incredibly confused.

I had been out there for 15 minutes at this point and I decided to bite the bullet and run down to the phone box.

......

Then I remembered that I did actually live with my girlfriend (and had done for at least 2 years at that point). I rang the door bell.

She got up and let me in.

I'd spent 15 minutes panicking like a fucking idiot, trying to break in when my girlfriend had been asleep in the flat the whole time

.....

She told me that she heard the doorbell, looked at the clock, noticed I wasn't in bed and thought. Oh it must be Drugs ARE the answer.

She's put up with a lot of stuff like that.

Like the time I pissed on her living room carpet at uni in my sleep.

But that's another story.
(Drugs ARE the answer., Thu 30 Aug 2007, 13:36, Reply)