So, I've woken up. I had decided the night before to make a big breakfast for J and A. Hashbrowns (onion, yellow pepper, pickled hot peppers, and fresh cilantro) with eggs over-easy and some ready-bake croissants. Then J and A went their separate ways, leaving me to do my morning email remotely. Then the doorbell rings.
I go out into the front entryway and see it's Joe. I open the door for him, turn around, and realize...I'm screwed. The front door to J and A's apartment is closed. And it locks automatically, of course. And my spare set of keys is inside, of course. And I'm wearing socks, of course (interestingly, several people asked me if I was dressed at this point in the story; apparently I have a reputation for not wearing a lot of clothes in the morning).
Joe and I tried several creative ways to try and get back in, but were unsuccessful. Except, Joe gave me two clear plastic bags to put on my feet. Instead of shoes, you know. So I tucked them into the tops of my socks, and they worked great. I mean, I wouldn't want to walk over gravel with them, and maybe rain or puddles wouldn't be that great, but I did walk over a lawn and along a sidewalk, and it was fine. It was weird walking across a lawn, only a millimeter or two removed from having squishy soaking wet socks (I hate wet socks!), and it was fine. The texture felt weird. But fun.
We eventually drove down to see Jamie and borrow his keys and we got in no problem. The plastic-bags-on-the-feet thing was just a bonus. Thanks, Joe.