Cerrar la Puerta

Yesterday, I did some hardcore shopping for the first time I've been there. I've made many purchases here or there, but yesterday I went buckwild. I bought two pairs of jeans, two sweaters, and a pair of shoes for 250 pesos — which comes out to a little more than 80 bucks. Not bad.

I carried three bags of my stuff home. When I arrived home, I was surprised to find that my key would not open the door. I worked at it for a minute of so before ringing the doorbell in the hopes that someone would be home. Luckily, Maria, our cleaning lady (not really sure why we have a cleaning lady) was home. I was able to tell her that the lock to the door was broken. She opened the window to the door, like the ones in those cars where you can open the window to the trunk and not open the door at the same time. I was able to squeeze through a cubby-sized hole to enter our place. But the lock was still broken.

Neither Maria nor I knew what to do about fixing the lock, so I went across the street to the Parilla (which luckily was open because they have the weirdest hours — usually closed from around 6-9) and talked to this guy I know, Beto. He came over and looked at the lock and said that it was really broken and that he would call a cerrajeria, or locksmith. A minute later, this old man, Enrique, showed up at our doorstep. He started to inspect the lock and figured out what we had to do to fix it. Enrique then took off to go get his toolbox. In the meantime, I asked Maria where Enrique had come from. I assumed he was a locksmith. Maria informed me that he was our neighbor. Enrique later told me that he lived above the parrilla. I always wondered what was up those stairs.

Enrique came back with his tool box and removed as much of the lock as he could. Then he went to the hardware store to buy the necessary replacement screws while I tried to remove the rest of the lock. I was able to remove the rest of it by the time Enrique returned. Enrique tried to reinstall the lock for the next five minutes, but we both soon realized that he had purchased the wrong-sized screws. So he returned to the hardware store once again. When he got back, it was pretty dark outside, and I held a candle for Enrique as he worked to put the lock back. Finally, he was able to get it.

The lock now worked better than it had before (did I mention that the lock was already very fidgety). He told me that in order for the lock to work a little more smoothly, I should return tomorrow and scrub a part of the inside of the door (te part that makes the holes for the lock on the door-side) with a toothbrush — at least I think that's what he said. He also informed me that our lock was very old — which is why is was now broken — and that we should consider replacing it. Especially because there are muchos ladrones (thiefs) in our neighborhood. And now our door works, again.