After a few months of living in my condo and several people managing to lock themselves in my bathroom because of an ancient doorknob with a mind of its own that liked to randomly lock itself, the little shit finally decided to lock me in the other night. A couple glasses of wine deep, I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands and ensure it wouldn’t happen to anyone else. A pair of tweezers, some creativity, and a little elbow grease later, I’d successfully removed the doorknob and let myself out. Take that, Mr. Doorknob.
Yesterday, I decided it was time to replace it and hiked my happy Hudson-skinny-jean-clad ass (complete with a cute sweater and loafers) down to the local Homo Depot on a quest to find myself two new doorknobs (because heaven forbid the bedroom and bathroom not match) and hopefully a hot, hunky, and – most importantly – handy husband.
Wandering around the store aimlessly, I managed to find doorknobs and a ceiling light. Calling my mother to see if she thought I’d be able to change the light in my kitchen on my own, she wasted no time reminding me of that one time I tried to rewire a table lamp and shorted out my entire apartment, nearly starting a fire in the process. Perhaps I’ll leave that to my landlord or, even better, an electrician.
(Fine mom, I’ll hold off on the light for now. I’ll call my landlord and see if he’ll pay to have it installed if I pay for the fixture. Seems like a fair trade to me.)
Doorknobs though…I can handle that.So here I am on a Sunday evening, cordless drill charged and ready to be a good handyman. Or a lesbian. With my power tools and expert craftsmanship, I’m only a plaid flannel, vest, cargo shorts, tube socks, Birkenstocks, and a Subaru away from being one. Okay, so maybe I’m not so close to being a lesbian. Then again, the only tuna I like comes in a canned or filet form. Apparently not so lesbian at all.
So since this doorknob had been so old, it wasn’t drilled to the specs that normal modern doorknobs are. Fine. I can handle this. I can drill it out and widen these holes (hehe) so the new one will fit. Us gays are professionals when it comes to drilling holes.
Drill, drill, drill.
Trap self in bathroom.
Yes, you read this right. I trapped myself in the bathroom.
Where is my iPhone? Sitting in the living room charging. Go figure.
Never fear, I managed to get myself out alive (about 10-15 minutes later). Let’s just say it was a good thing I had my screwdriver, drill, hammer, and some scissors with me in the bathroom. When it comes to creativity, leave it to a designer to get themselves out of a sticky situation.
However, in the process I managed to break the knob I was installing (good thing I opted for the $11 model).
In addition, I discovered (after looking at the directions – typical male) that I need a different size hole that’s nearly the size of the knob to be able to make this doorknob install correctly. Ouch. How to drill/cut such a large hole is going to be an adventure.
Needless to say, I may have fly my mother out to install these doorknobs. Either that or I’ll need to go back to Home Depot and kick round two of Operation Husband Hunt into action. I’m leaning towards the second choice.