On Sleepwalking

So, as far as I know, I’ve never been a sleepwalker. I’ve been a liar, a cheat, a space cowboy, a drunk, a scholar, a gentleman, a pirate (for Halloween), and a bunch of other junk, but never a sleepwalker.

However, more than once, twice actually, in the past couple years I have woken up in the hallway outside my apartment after going to bed for the night.

Granted that each of these occasions involved the stray beer or two, but I wouldn’t say that I was drunk on either occasion. And, as noted above, I’ve been a drunk before, but it had never before led to me in my underwear looking at my locked door from the wrong side as it did in the two scenarios to be discussed below. Now, I always deadbolted my door and actually slept in a loft, so it must’ve been quite a production for me to wind up where I wound up.

The first time this issue arose I kept trying to wake myself up. I thought that I had to be dreaming. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It was winter, so I couldn’t walk to a store or anything to borrow a phone, as it was freezing…not that I would’ve known anyone’s number anyway because in these days of cell phone speed dialing, who needs to remember such things? My extra key was with a friend across town, and I didn’t have money to get a cab. The fact that there was snow on the ground, and I was barefoot is beside the point.

I noticed that there was a futon cushion in the hallway, and I remembered that my mom was coming to visit the next morning (but a few short hours away), so I briefly contemplated curling up in a ball and contracting some illness from the discarded mattress. Then it dawned on me: shoulder the door open. This only seems like a good idea at 5 in the morning when you’re half naked and freezing, but, hell, it works on TV and in the movies, so why not in this situation?

So I stepped up to the door and rammed it with my shoulder. Nothing. Once more, a loud thud, and I was in. The door opened! I was delighted…and then disturbed. Not only because sleep walking is very troubling, but also because I now knew that my apartment could be opened by throwing a body against it. Hmm…

I never really dealt with that issue, but the second time I awoke in the hallway I wasn’t as thrown off because I knew I could break back in. Knowledge is a funny thing because for some reason, despite repeated poundings, this time the door would not budge. Panic now returned. This time there was no futon cushion and no visit from Mom in the morning as a backup plan. Taking a few more shots at the door, I confirmed that I couldn’t get in…I also bruised my shoulder up right nice.

My only option was to knock on a neighbor’s door, borrow a phone and call a locksmith. Let me point out that it’s somewhere in the early morning hours, and my building ain’t the nicest. I decided to knock on the door of the little old lady with the little yappy dog that lived across the hall from me. She was a shut in, thus I knew she’d be home and not out clubbing. So, I, in my boxers, knocked on this woman’s door in the wee hours of the morning and proceeded to apologize profusely while at the same time asking to borrow her phone.

Thankfully, she obliged. She probably wasn’t worried because Yapster McWeinerdog was there to protect her in case shit went down.

After calling a locksmith, I waited in the hall for his arrival. For 10 minutes of work I handed over 200 smackeroos. Awesome.

“I thought it was only $75. That’s what they said on the phone.”

“That’s for opening the door. The rest is for me coming here at this hour.”

Not surprisingly, I didn’t really feel like I could disagree with his pricing scheme. It’s tough to get fired up when the choice is stand in the hallway in a t-shirt for an indeterminate amount of time OR get back in your apartment. I went with the latter.

Once he got me in, I had to grab a jacket and walk to the all night deli a block away to hit up an ATM. Sadly, I didn’t keep an “In Case of Sleepwalking” stash of cash at home. Maybe that’s something to consider going forward.

The next day, I bought the neighbor woman flowers and apologized again for the previous night’s craziness. She smiled and said…something. I couldn’t really understand her. But I like to think it was along the lines of, “No problem. Thanks for the flowers.”

Those are the only times that I sleepwalked…sleptwalked…slepwalked…no idea how you say that in the past tense. At least, they’re the only times that I remember.

I do ask you this: if I ever knock on your door early one morning in my pajamas and ask to borrow your phone. Please let me.

I’ll buy you flowers the next day. I promise…

Did you like this Thought? Sure did. No, I did not.