For us northern hemisphere folks, today marks winter solstice, i.e. the “shortest day / longest night” of the year. Effectively, that also makes today probably one of the coldest days. Apparently, for whatever crazy reason, my brain thought that would be a great opportunity to celebrate.

Three hours ago, I went and took the empty box of water bottles in order to replace it with a full one in the garage. A key (or, technically, two) would be helpful in this endeavor: the garage is typically closed at 6 AM in the morning, and the house’s front door might slam shut on its own from the wind or for whatever other reason.

I almost always carry my keychain with me (as well as my wallet and, depending on the situation, kleenexes and/or my iPod mini), even while inside the house, but there’s the odd case here and there where I take it out of my pants, or where it has fallen out. This was one of those odd cases — but the moment I realized it was, in fact, the moment the front door did slam shut. I don’t even quite remember why; a flurry of wind or such.

In other words, at about 6.15 AM, on one of the coldest days of the year, I was locked out of my house, carrying a box of twelve empty water bottles. Neither of the garage doors and none of the three doors to the house were open, and barely anyone was awake. Luckily, I was wearing a sweater, but not exactly a particularly winter-proof one. My socks weren’t that thick either, and I only had slippers on. I briefly contemplated taking the bike (which is underneath a small porch behind the garage, i.e. it was one of the few things I actually had access to) and going on a trip, which if anything would at least have let me warm up a little, but without proper shoes, it wouldn’t have been too thrilling either (and, indeed, a bit risky).

About half an hour later, Gerda, my stepmother, would typically be up. It took me until about 7 to realize that, it being just two days before Christmas Eve, she would likely not have work today, and neither would my stepbrother or my father. By 7.15, I rang the doorbell, to no avail.

By 7.45, I tried again; this time, Gerda got up and looked out the window — but she couldn’t see me, for I was below the angle the window would allow for, nor could she see a car or any other such vehicle. I did, however, hear her, made a few steps back and shouted her name, just as she was ready to go back to sleep.

At that time, I had been out in the cold for almost exactly one and a half hours, and it’s not quite the kind of experience I wish to repeat. If it hadn’t been for the temperature, I actually wouldn’t have minded that much at all; the fresh air allowed me to ponder thoughts I far too often push aside. Perhaps it is for my own falsely strong sense of morals that I didn’t ring the doorbell right from the start, and in a more annoying manner, as to prevent myself from catching a cold. But it was, after all, my mistake, and a bit of a lesson to learn — far too often, the brain makes assumptions (e.g., “you certainly have a keychain with you”) because they tend to ring true most of the time, but aren’t when you least expect it.

It was, of course (or embarrassingly so?), not the first time that I locked myself out like this, though as far as I can remember, this typically happened under more enjoyable weather conditions. After letting me in, Gerda shared with me a similar experience of hers, where she wound up taking a long ladder in order to climb up directly to the bedroom’s window, knocking on it, to awaken and startle her husband.

Ah, the random moments of life.