Guess whose 46-year old kitchen door's lock finally went this morning? Yup. We realized as we were about to leave for Portsmouth (me to work, Justin to do some army stuff). I called my mother (who is also our landlord) and she relayed the search for a locksmith to my sainted father. Who then spent the rest of his day playing phone tag with locksmith companies and trying to get one who could meet us after 5 when we returned home.
He finally landed one (a Russian dude with a very thick accent) and he met us at the house. Our lock was too broken to pick, so he had to whip out the drill and just tear it up. Which, hilariously, didn't bring the dog running. As Justin said on the porch over the noise of the drill, "Worst watchdog ever."
$200 and an offer from the Russian locksmith for a hit of weed* later . . . it was done and we're safely on the right side of the door. And the old lock still works, as long as you lock it from the inside, so that's nice. Potential robbers, take note.
*to relieve the stress of getting locked out, we think?
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