Old Version
Essay

My White Knight

I stood outside my door, shouting encouragement to Betty, begging her not to kill the kindly worker who was about to break into the house through the kitchen door

By Suzanne Robare Updated Sept.1

Coming from a poor family as I do, and having worked my way through university as a waitress, I’m diligent about thank-yous and tips and go so far as to bring out a cold bottle of Pocari Sweat on hot days to workers sweltering in the heat – or cups of hot water on freezing days. Shoot, I go so far as to pick up OTHER people’s dog poo if it’s on the sidewalk. 

So, all this brings me up to the very raw subject of last week, when I was locked out of my apartment without my cellphone. Blessed with both a front and back garden, it seemed prudent just to have all the plants in one location while I was on holiday, and the front garden is closer to the water source. As I was staggering from the garden through the house with a huge tub of tomatoes and lavender plants, part of the supporting trellis hit the locking mechanism on my front door. I thought to myself, gosh, I better not shut the door all the way, just in case. Just as I dropped the heavy planter in the front garden, I heard the bark of my highly protective dog Betty, and the click of the front door. I’m not suggesting Betty did anything on purpose. If anything, she was obeying my order to stay in the house, and perhaps by butting the door shut with her head she was trying to do me a big favor, like a little child saying, “See mommy? I’m being good and not interrupting, aren’t I? Aren’t I?” I tried the door, which has an electronic keypad. It did not work. Some message flashed up in Chinese, which I could not read. I couldn’t translate it either, as my cellphone with its translation app was locked inside. I’m pretty sure this situation was never covered in The Practical Chinese Reader, and I knew I’d have to rely on the kindness and competence of the building staff to get me back inside my apartment. 

I went to reception and explained the situation. I don’t think they quite understood me, as they asked me to call my landlord. I explained I couldn’t, as my cellphone was locked inside. A receptionist then called management, who sent her the landlord’s phone number, and the landlord sent the code to the keypad, while I protested over and over that it wasn’t an issue with the code, but an issue with whatever message was flashing on the door, which I couldn’t translate as my phone was inside the house... eventually, the building security guards were called, and after glancing at the lock, they reminded the receptionist that they couldn’t pick an electronic lock. No one seemed that interested in reading the message that was flashing up whenever I typed in my code, but I finally got someone to watch the keypad long enough to read the message which flashed on for less than a second before disappearing. It said: “Locked from inside.” 

So, no entry, and just to make the whole situation more ludicrous, it began to rain. The receptionist simply vanished, and I stared at the workers before realizing there WAS a way in: I had left the door from the kitchen to the garden open. Now to scale the gigantic two-meter-tall hedge around the garden... or pop over the shorter wall on the east side which separated my garden from the neighbor’s. But who would climb the ladder? I was wearing a short house dress and gardening slippers, and the workers were about my height, which is 1.5 meters even, and about 70 years of age. The most valiant, who was also the shortest and oldest, took on the task. I stood outside my door, shouting encouragement to Betty, begging her not to kill the kindly worker who was about to break into the house through the kitchen door. I heard a barrage of frantic barking and the sounds of someone scrambling over shrubbery, then finally, my front door was flung open by a sour-faced worker brandishing a chopstick as a sword and a shield in the form of the top of the steamer basket, holding off a dog attack while he saved me, the fair maiden, from being locked outside her castle. I shouted, “My hero!” and my white knight stumped away, glaring evilly at the dog, refusing payment for his service. I immediately called my fiancé and let him know what happened, and at that moment, the comedy and horror and absurdity hit me and I laughed so hard he thought he might have to call a paramedic. 

Life throws curveballs and it pays to be on good terms with everyone, and to think of creative solutions as needed. We all need to help each other once in a while. Help comes in many forms, and if it needs to defend itself with kitchen equipment, so be it. 

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