Locked Out

So, I was going to spend today telling you about the rest of the workshop, and about these mugs I threw tonight and how much more consistent they’re getting, but I won’t.

My camera, which has all the illustrative pictures on it, is in the studio, and I am not. This is so because I locked myself out.

The door has been happily sticking open for a year, letting in every bug and mouse and draft, but the one time I step out to empty the mop bucket and am depending on it to stay open… it closes to.

I spent a cold ten minutes inspecting every ground-level window of the building (all locked, except maybe one, but I couldn’t get a good enough grip to open it), and then trying to get the fire escape down to check if the second and third floor doors were locked, and then not being able to reach the fire escape, and then dragging the picnic table over to see if that would work, which it didn’t, and then considering scaling the side of the building with my leet Spiderman superpowers, and then remembering I have no superpowers, deciding hypothermia must be making me silly, and giving up. I smeared a note in clay on the door, left the mop bucket on the step, and left.

I walked over to my mom’s, did some questionable things to her back door (she’s not home; she’s hiking in the Grand Canyon for a few weeks… I am supposed to collect her mail, though, so it’s not like *real* break and enter), and am typing this from her laptop. I’ve been phoning the studio sporadically for the past twenty minutes, and if no-one picks up next try I’ll take one of Mom’s jackets and walk home.

Bah.

Update: I wound up taking one of my mom’s jackets, walking back, crossing out my note, writing “Never mind” underneath, and walking off. I got as far as Bannerman Park before John Bear, having swung by the studio with a bunch of other people doing a workshop, stopped on the side of the road and gave me a ride. “Well, it’s the least anyone could do after you having to write a note in mud!”

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