I got my front door key stuck in the lock yesterday.
I unscrewed the lock from the door last night.
That oil you use for sewing machines? I put a bit of that into the lock last night. Nothing.
"Did you fix it?" asked the Mama.
"Did you get the key out?" asked the husband.
In case you're pondering why the husband wasn't involved in figuring out how to remove the key from the lock, it's because I was bogeying the lock and he was washing dishes. I had handed it to him before he started the dishes. I needed him to use brute strength to jiggle out the key. He had success last week when his key got stuck in that same lock. But no such luck this time.
How did I get the key stuck in the first place?
"You used the wrong key," the Mama declared.
"Did you use the wrong key?" asked the husband.
Think, remember, recall. Yeah, I did.
I left the lock, with the key stuck in it, on the stairway stoop. I was very confident the house ghosties would work their magic so that I could pull out the key with a snap this morning.
The ghosties obviously had better things to do.
That dry graphite you use for unsticking things? I sprayed a bit. . .no, a lot. . .of that into the lock this morning. Nothing.
I took the lock apart before breakfast. All the tiny springs and solid bits ka-boinged out of the holes. That was fun.
My key is still stuck in the lock.
Three hours ago, we bought a new deadbolt lock.
An hour ago, the husband and I installed a new deadbolt lock. Yes, I let the husband have some fun, too.
I'm keeping the old lock. One of these days I will get my key out.