Night Mission Report LD1988202SR OR Freaky Stuff I Used To Do

Everybody knows about my GI Joe obsession. Right? Right. Take it as said.
Well, we used to live next to a farm. Big field and woods next to the house, creek and woods behind the house, all good stuff. Well, being the spoiled obsessive over-fantasized lad that I was, I had a uniform. Black pants, camo jacket, backpack, boonie hat, Uzi squirt gun. Well, I had a habit of getting into gear at night, when everybody, IE, my parents, were asleep. I’d sneak down to the basement, get into uniform, and run around the forest. It was great to do on full moon nights. Great shadowplay.
Well, one time, I came back to the house, and the lights were on in the kitchen.
Saw Dad walking around. Hopped the fence, tried the door. It was locked.
Okay. Crap. Shit. Okay.
Tried two of the basement windows. Firmly closed. The third had a little give. I kept playing with it, but it wouldn’t budge. I took off my jacket, balled it up around my hand, and pushed against the frame. Eventually, and to my great relief, it sprang open. I crawled in headfirst, lowering myself to the floor by my hands. I pull in all my stuff, and close the door. Get back into my jammies, then wait to make sure there’s no one moving around upstairs.
Minutes went by. Heard nothing.
Fine. I creep up the basement stairs, then gently turn the doorknob. As I expected/dreaded, it was locked. The basement and garage doors had locks that just swung around, then lowered into a notch. Not terribly complex, unless you’re on the other side and it’s locked and you don’t want to get caught.
After much pacing, and considering options–climb the porch and go through the windows? Nope. They’re locked, too. Go to sleep on the couch in the basement and get caught in the morning? Yeah, that’d fly.
Then I looked at the desk. It had been Dad’s at one of his jobs, but now for all intents and purposes it was mine. On top were some wires from an electronics project I’d done a while back. Wires that could be stiff. I had an idea germinating. I uncoiled a couple inches, then tried to slip the wire between the door and the jamb, to push the lock up. Too damn thick.
I went back, mind throwing thirty seven implausible ideas at me every microsecond. I looked through the drawers for something else to use. Then I saw the folders.
The manila folders.
The sturdy manila folders.
The really skinny sturdy manila folders.
I had made up files for each of our homemade GI Joe characters, and these were stored in the folders. I emptied one, then slipped the folder through the door. It took some wiggling to maneuver around the jamb, but I got it. I eased it up, felt the folder come into contact with my brass nemesis, then began the real chore. I kept wiggling until I heard the scrape of brass. The lock opened, the door opened, and contrary to my fears, Dad wasn’t waiting in the kitchen wondering just what the frig I was doing. I go back down the steps, put the file back, go up, close the door, relock it, and go to bed. I lay there for about an hour and a half until my breathing, heart rate, and paranoia levels all return to normal.

Let’s hear it for ingenuity!


~ by Sean on October 29, 2011.

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