Four Hunky Firemen and a Couple of Policemen by Susan Mellsopp
Four kind and burly firemen (who asked that I make them better looking, younger and taller than the ones on TV) stood in my bedroom early one Saturday morning. This was not the scenario I envisaged when I went to bed at 9.30pm the previous night. My life had changed irrevocably.
Getting up about 2.30am to answer the call of nature, I discovered I could not get out of my bedroom. The door was jammed tight. Turning on the light, much to the amusement of my guide dog Maya, I examined the recalcitrant door handle. Always aware that these handles could accidently lock, and no key had been provided for them, I had purposely never locked any of my interior doors. Initially I tried a coin as told to do by the builder. Nothing happened. Then something sharp was employed, and various pieces of whatever I could find in my bedroom drawers to try and budge the latch. It slowly dawned on me that I had not accidently engaged the lock when retiring as it was loose. I pushed, pulled, tried to insert something to push the latch back into the door cavity, it was stuck fast.
After about thirty minutes I knew I was beaten. Dialing 111, asked who I wanted, I thought a policeman might be the best option as someone who could probably break into my house. Getting to the door from the passage side would be essential to ensuring my escape. I was informed there were no police available, I guess they were busy with more important things than a 70 plus woman locked in her bedroom in the wee small hours. The call taker explained she had informed the police but had also rung the fire service. Strangely, she also asked me to describe other streets nearby, perhaps to ensure this was not a prank call. Querying if I was alone in the house, she wanted to know how could they get in. Explaining the necessity to walk down the far side of my home, I opened the window but also said someone smaller and slim would need to come as getting in the window would not be simple. Thankfully the local fire station is only a few minutes drive away, and I hurriedly donned a warm dressing gown. Then I sat on the end of the bed waiting for my rescuers.
By this stage Maya was getting very excited and was running around my bedroom with her favourite toy in her mouth. She probably thought this was a new adventure in her working life. Voices came down the side of the house and four firemen appeared. Dressed in all their firemen’s gear, leggings, reflective coats, they had brought a slimmer chap who hoped to be able to crawl through my window. Maya was extremely excited to see someone coming into her room and was excitedly waiting to greet him.
Querying how they could access the rest of the house, I said my spare key was at the neighbour’s home. I was unsure if she would hear them ringing the doorbell or knocking at about 3.30am as she is deaf, and described where her bedroom was. Armed with a very bright torch, one of the men went around the back of her home and managed to rouse her by shining it in her eyes. Not thinking in the heat of the moment to tell them her Christian name, she was definitely surprised. My apologies had to come with a huge amount of humility and a large bunch of freesias from the garden the next morning. We laughed until our sides hurt about the improbability of my dilemma.
The fireman in the bedroom tried all sorts of options and varying tools to open the door, but it was definitely stuck fast. I had attempted to dismantle it but the inner ring was screwed on tight with two Phillips screws. Who takes a screwdriver to bed? Shaking and banging the door failed to achieve the desired result. Asking if he could look in my wardrobe, it offered no solutions as all my coat hangers are plastic. At about this stage two policemen turned up, obviously my predicament was now more interesting than crime at what was now almost 4am. They soon left realising there was little they could do to help.
Growing quietly impressed with the practicality of the fire service, I noticed they were going to remove the door by its hinges. I wondered why I had not thought of that, but again, who takes a hammer to the bedroom at night. After much thought and trying various options somehow the insides of the lock were removed, the door taken off its hinges, and I was instructed that now I could use the bathroom. All the unexpected excitement in the wee small hours meant Maya was also in need of a toilet stop, and she ran outside for her own rather extended ablutions.
The door was eventually re-hung, sans the door handle. Apparently it had broken internally. Some sort of order was finally returned to my ageing existence. Shutting the window to keep out the cold and pulling the curtains, I followed the men, who had a various selection of equipment they had used to rescue me, down the passage thanking them profusely for their help.
On went the electric blanket, but sleep eluded me. I decided Maya would definitely be of no use if a burglar invaded my house given she had wagged her tail and was googly eyed at the firemen. As thoughts raced around in my head I knew that all the internal door handles would now need replacing to ensure I did not get locked in the bathroom or toilet. These handles, carefully chosen by the builder for my safety in case of a home invasion, were now obviously well past their use by date. Grateful that I have a landline phone next to my bed, I have now decided to take my mobile with me each night also, as long as no one texts me at 2am! But the biggest insult was, when telling my tale to a friend, she asked if I was making it up, or I had just assumed that the door was stuck. The tale of four firemen having difficulty opening the door did not seem to register with her.
I had explained I am a writer, and had to write a story about the night’s disaster, hence the request for an enhanced descriptor. I was very impressed with my heroes; yes, they are. These men from the fire service who are husbands, brothers, sons and fathers willingly gave up their time to help a 70 something woman unexpectedly stuck in her bedroom in the middle of the night. We should be incredibly grateful for what they do working all hours. Not only do they fight fires, deal with horrendous car accidents, help in storms and landslides, but they support people in distress in many different situations. While much hilarity has been shared of my needing the fire service to dismantle my door at 3.30am, this is what real New Zealanders are made of.
Thank you to the New Zealand Fire Service. I hope you enjoyed your gift.
