Picture this...Andre Agassi (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided last night to go play some tennis and get some dinner. When we arrived home, with groceries in hand, we realized the key to our house was sitting inside on the table. I can't describe how frustrating it is to know 2 inches of wood separates you from your home. For about 30 minutes we attempted to break into our own apartment. Andre scaled great heights and fought a debilitating fear of spiders only to find the sliding door to our balcony is completely burglar proof. Damn you Moss Company and your safety precautions. We called our manager about twenty times, and eventually, resorted to actually banging our shoulder into the door. I would like to report that unlike the movies, it is actually quite hard to bang a door down.
Finally, we gave our groceries to our neighbors, and headed off to dine with the other homeless people of Santa Monica. No, we didn't head down to the Salvation Army, but we did enjoy a delightful dinner at Denny's. Why Denny's? Why not. Did you know that for $4.00 you can eat as many pancakes as you want? What a fantastic place. $4.00. I went with the ol' standard of the Grand Slam. What's better than two pancakes doused in a cup of butter, which by the way, who eats that much butter, two eggs scrambled, which sort of looked like egg styrofoam and turkey bacon, which sort of tasted and looked like ham? I can't think of anything.
I really want to start frequenting Denny's, but I just don't think we are the clientele they are targeting. For example, while I scrapped the butter off my pancakes and tried to convince myself I was eating turkey, I watched a flat screen TV roll through a bunch of commercials. Here were the commercials: how to get out of debt, how to get credit, how to defend yourself against spousal abuse, some completely in Spanish and a few on drug abuse. At first, I was like, "These are interesting commercials," and then I looked around, and thought, "Oh, these are Denny's commercials not 'Kate and Andre commercials."*
Anyway, after our dabble with the Denny's crowd, we, I mean Andre, tried for an hour and a half to jimmy our lock with a hanger, and finally at 11:30 (3 1/2 hours LATER) our manager finally answered her forsaken phone and gave us the spare key. Here's what I learned from last night. I would rather sleep in my car than pay a locksmith $130 freakin' dollars to unlock my door. My manager sucks. Doors can not be broken into with a coat hanger and some pliers. And Denny's can be quite an exclusive place.
* I'm a snob?