On Rules, The Importance of Following Them, and Why I Spent Wednesday Night In A Hotel

This week we had some apartment drama, which ended up being an interesting window in the British spirit (once we got over the fact that we had to spend the night in a hotel.)

One would not be faulted for forgetting that long ago, shortly after the move, I made a passing comment in a previous post about some issues that we had had getting the keys to our unit. As preamble, here is that story: When we showed up at the unit after signing the lease and getting the keys, we found that while we could get in the outer door we could not get in the actual door to our unit. We had been given a key-ring with one 'normal' key and two skeleton keys. We had joked a bit about the skeleton keys, because they really are not used at all in America, and it seemed so fun and charming to get them. Well it was less fun when we couldn't get in. After many backs and forths with the real estate agent, we figured several things out. First, we learned some valuable vocabulary (a normal lock is a 'yale lock' here, even if it's not Yale brand; a skeleton key lock uses a 'chub' key.) Secondly, we figured out that somehow, we had been given the wrong keys for our unit. In fact, it took many people and several different agents at several different agencies to actually find a set of keys that would let us into our new home. Once we did get the keys, we had two yales (outer and inner) but only one chub. We were told that this was OK because it's not actually legal to use the chub keys, for fire safety reasons (it's hard to escape if you have to fumble with your keys to leave.)

Fast forward to Wednesday evening. Mary was stuck late at work, so I came home alone. I swung by the store for taco fixings (Taco Night! Woo hoo!) but when I got to the apartment I discovered that the door to our unit was locked. Not just the amount of locked we usually have it, but extra locked. The chub lock had been done. Now we knew that the landlord, against all past behavior, was actually getting workmen out to look at a maintenance issue, so I immediately knew what had happened. He had the magical second chub key and when he left, he locked all the locks he had keys for. A sensible action without context, but a bit irritating for me.

My first plan of attack was calling the management company, though I didn't hold out much hope given past experience. In keeping with history, it was already half an hour after the office closed, so I was out of luck. They don't have a 24-hour contact number, and with nobody answering in the office I was on my own.

Next up was calling a locksmith, as I would if I got locked out of my house at home. Both Mary and I did a quick websearch (me on my phone, she texting me suggestions) and shortly I was calling in the experts. Turns out, they can only speak to the building owner. To let a tenant into an apartment, they need an incident number from the police. "So...I need to call the police just because I got locked out?" I asked incredulously. Yup. Those are the rules.

I was not about to call the police just because I was locked out of the house, so next up was seeing if I could find the contact info for the workman. I knew that he had called me earlier in the week, but I could not remember when, on which phone, and if I had deleted his message. After much searching and some guesswork (was he the blocked number? No, that's the cat-sitter calling back about our Amsterdam trip.) I tracked him down. I gave him a call and explained the situation. Step one for him was establishing that this was not his fault, as he was just following the directions he was given. He was told to lock up, he locked up. Not his fault. Now, I can understand his perspective, but honestly. I was locked out of my apartment and he held the keys. Surely some culpability lay with him. Regardless, I just wanted back in. I asked if he had a better contact number for the landlord if he could try calling. He was very willing to help, and said that it was probably better for him to call anyway since he would be less likely to get screened on caller ID. He called me back shortly thereafter reporting no luck. The landlord is on vacation and wasn't answering.

My next question was, "Where are you?" It seemed sensible that either we could go to him, or he could come to us, and we could still spent the night in our own bed. Naturally, he was an almost two-hour drive away, each way. As we had clearly established that he was just doing his job and not at fault, he was clearly not coming to me. I got his address info, as a possible backup to the backup plan. Then I asked him how one calls the police in a non-emergency situation in this country.

I actually got through to the police with very little hold time, and was connected with a nice gentleman. I explained the situation, that the landlord had never given us a key for this second lock and that a workman had locked that lock; that we needed a police incident number in order to get the locksmith to let us in; that I had exhausted all non-police options. He asked if there was a reason that the landlord would have changed the locks on us. I paused. I thought. And I said, "Sir, I appreciate that you can not act on this information, because you have a set of rules that tell you I am probably in the wrong, but the fact is through no fault of my own I don't have a place to sleep tonight because my landlord is shit." Or something to that effect. He was very apologetic and, as had the workman before him and the locksmith before him, expressed sympathy at my situation but explained that he was just doing his job.

One fruitless round trip to the office to ransack my bag for extra keys in case my memory had failed us later we checked into a hotel near home. Thankfully the grocery store was open even though it was technically after their closing hour, so we could at least pick up a toothbrush and toothpaste.

We called the management office the next day when they opened. I was prepared. I had my list of reasons why, really, truly, it was the landlord's fault. The landlord's agent rented us the place and failed to give us the key. The landlord's agent had locked the door with that key. The landlord was going to take responsibility if I had to keep him on the phone all day. Basically the first thing he said (after "I'm sorry") was "This was our fault." I was shocked. They sent someone out with a master set of keys to let us in. They also agreed that we need to either be given a key to that lock (which they also mentioned was technically illegal) or have all keys to it destroyed.

In reality, every one of these people I spoke with pretty much failed me by being British. In America, I would have had some chance at charming someone into intervening on my behalf. I would have been able to get one of them on my side, I truly believe this. But here, in this country, if you are given rules you follow them. It's just how it is. None of these folks would have even thought of stepping out of line, even if it meant us sleeping on the street. Thankfully it didn't come to that, but first thing Monday I am calling the landlord to follow up on preventing this from happening again.