In New York City, the apartments are OLD. So old. But one of the benefits to many of these pre-war buildings is the fact that they have roof decks. In about every movie EVER made about New York City, I feel like there is a scene where snazzy people are partying on a roof deck, clinking champagne flutes and wearing sparkles and looking pretty fabulous.
I'd like to say that we are those people. But we aren't.
Stevie discovered that our building actually has a roof deck. A sort of dilapidated one. It's not really set up for people to go out there. In fact, there are huge signs on the doors that say, "DO NOT OPEN - ALARM WILL SOUND", so I figure, we're not really supposed to go up there. I'm a rule follower. So end of story.
Obviously not the end of the story. Stevie determined that we can sneak up on top of the roof of our 6-story apartment complex. And according to his assessment, the view "is awesome!" I never asked him how he figured out that we could get around the alarm system (it's better to know less in these cases.) So against my better judgement, I followed him up 6 flights of stairs and opened the warning door; yet no alarm went off. Hmm. Okay. We were feeling pretty Jack Bauer-ish. Rogue. And sly.
We stepped out onto the windy deck. It was pretty awesome, I admit. We could see the tops of all the buildings on our block, we could look down on all the interesting apartments. We could see the edge of Central Park. We could see cats, flowers, patio furniture, tree tops, we could see everything! It was fun. And colorful. And kind of windy. So windy, in fact, that after about 5 minutes of snapping some pictures, I was ready to go back downstairs. And eat some soup and stuff.
We walked towards the door. Which was slammed shut.
Like I said, the wind was not messing around, and it must have blown the door closed.
It was locked. Totally locked. We wrestled with the door. We threw our body weight against it. But nothing. It wouldn't budge.
"WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DOOOOOOOOO?!" I'm a bit of a wailer. It can't be helped in moments of panic.
Stevie, on the other hand, is cool, calm and collected. Almost always. It's annoying. BECAUSE WE ARE LOCKED OUT ON THE ROOF. It's time for panic.
"Kris, it's okay. We could call the super," he said to me. Oh no. Not happening. That guy kind of hates us.
"The super hates us. Not an option."
He stared at the ground, lost in thought. "Okay... ok, I think I've got an idea." He hoisted open a side window leading into the stairwell, just around the corner of the extremely locked door. Propping one leg up and then the other, he slithered his wiry self into the slatted opening and disappeared.
I was alone. On the roof deck. All alone. The wind whipped around my head. I was swimming in the thought of having to sleep up there. And the fact that I never knew my husband was secretly in Cirque du Soleil.
My man reappeared, through the previously locked door! Victory! VICTORY!!!! Instead of whining like a baby about how I am never breaking the rules with him again, I just hugged that man liked crazy and then leapt through that door before it shut on us again.
Moral of the story? Follow the rules. Even if the alarm doesn't go off. Because there won't always be a window of opportunity ready to bail your out of your law breaking!
Mmm so deep.