Scenario: This past Friday night. 3 a.m. Friend’s apartment. We’re all drunk, we’ve all just eaten Cosmic Cantina, we’re all loving life, and I’ve just locked out all five of us on the second-floor balcony.
Everyone starts calling friends within 20 miles to see if they can come open the front door and then unlock the balcony’s sliding glass dungeon keeper. The ones that answer are out of town. I call a friend who I already know is out of town, just to tell him that I’m drunk and I love him because he’s not a parrot and I hate parrots.
Once we accept that we’ll have to get ourselves out of this situation, we start brainstorming escape plans. Some are legitimate, some are jokes, and a couple started out as jokes, but quickly turn into viable plans.
Someone suggests shouting until a neighbor opens their window and says, “Shut the fuck up!” Then we reply with, “No, YOU shut the fuck up, but could you first come open the door for us?”
Shouting would be too rude, we decide. We’ll take the quieter approach and just throw things at their window, like the love-struck teenager in old romantic comedies. Except, we don’t have any pebbles, just empty beer bottles. Could still work, though, if we just flick it.
One of the guys says that he’ll jump down. I tell him that would be far too dangerous and that, if anything, we should tandem jump, because it’s safer. The lone girl on the balcony interrupts, disputing my claim and I try to explain the physics.
Hold on a second, is that a bag full of clothes on the balcony? We can throw the bag down and then jump into it! No? Well, then we’ll take the clothes and tie them together and Rapunzel ourselves down. Agreed.
Right before we start tying the clothes together, we see a girl walking around the back of the complex.
“I’ll call out to her,” says one of the guys.
“No,” I reply. “You’ll sound rapey. I think a girl should call out to her so she doesn’t get scared off.”
Two minutes later, we’re rescued, which is bittersweet, because I still want to tandem jump.