Gathering coins
In 2006, I visited Australia as the guest of a friend who was born in the UK but who now lived Down Under. I was excited: as an American it was my first international trip.

My friend lived on Mt. Glorious, on the woodsy outskirts of the city of Brisbane. As it happened, he had to travel, so I spent my last two nights in Australia alone in his house.

About 1 a.m. on my last night there, I remembered I had not yet studied southern constellations in much detail, and this was my last chance to do so. So I grabbed my newly-purchased southern star chart, walked out the front doorway, and casually closed the front door.

Instantly, I knew, and my heart froze: I was locked out of the house!

I quickly ran around the house and assessed the situation. The house was hermetically-sealed. All doors and windows were locked and secure. Entry was not possible. But I had to leave by 9 a.m. to make the noon flight! What was I going to do?

For about one-and-a-half hours, I tried to pick and pry locks, all the while jumping around in the dark so that the motion-sensitive outdoor lights would generate enough light by which to see. I found a tool tray in the garage, which provided some tools, but which was also home to a giant Australian Brown Huntsman Spider. Every time I reached into the tool tray I had to shoo the giant spider away first.

Giving up on lock-picking, I decided I had to break a window. I decided to break the guest bathroom toilet window, because it would be the easiest to repair. I figured I could wiggle my way inside, kind of like a contortionist; one arm in first, then the head, then the other arm, until I could fall in, using the inner toilet door for support. I began cutting the outer screen of the window in preparation for shattering the glass. Then I realized I was just too fat a person for this to work! I might easily hurt myself, and I had no time to arrange for repairs! There was no alternative: I had to get help!

Even though the house was in a fairly-remote rural community, there were a few neighbors nearby. But how could I credibly ask for help? No one here knew who I was. I had no identification, keys, phone, or money. And my urgent insistence that I had to enter their neighbor's home at 3 a.m. despite his absence might strike them as not credible.

Maybe I could find a locksmith. But how do I call a locksmith without a phone? I wondered whether there was a pay telephone in the village of Mt. Glorious, which was located about 2 km away through the dark forest. Funny, I thought I had seen one, but I wasn't sure.

I girded myself for a trek. I still had several hours with which to work with, and I didn't HAVE to sleep. I was thirsty, and a little uncomfortable, but the night was cool, and I could manage for a number of hours yet without drink.

So off I went, tramping along the desolate road through the forest to the village of Mt. Glorious. The moon was nearly full, but the sky was overcast, so the darkness was nearly complete. I worried about stumbling over carpet pythons in the dark. There was no reason any longer that snakes would prefer the tarmac, since the sun had long ago set and the pavement was cool, but animals sometimes do inscrutable things, so I tried to stay close to the slight glow emanating from the road's center dotted line, so that I might have at least have a last-second warning if *something* was in my immediate path.

I heard lots of rustling in the roadside forest, and sometimes the worried coos of startled birds as I walked past, but what exactly was *out there* I didn't know and couldn't tell.

After the longest walk, I found the village, with its two street lights. The place appeared utterly deserted at 3:30 a.m. Indeed, there was a phone booth there, but with no phone book or money I was limited to toll-free numbers only.

I called "000", the Australian emergency number, and the Brisbane police reluctantly gave me the toll free number of Locksmith #1. He refused my appeal for help - after all, there was little attraction to rescuing someone atop a mountain 30 km outside of the big city. He referred me to Locksmith #2.

Locksmith #2 said he couldn't respond immediately. He was far away, in Coloundra, but if I called back at 6 a.m., he would see what he could do.

I called back Locksmith #1, to see if he could respond sooner, and he said no way - it was illegal to open locks for people like me, people who had confided they weren't the actual homeowner. He said that I should be grateful that Locksmith #2 hadn't turned me down cold.

The directory assistance operators commisserated with my problem, but the trouble was these two locksmiths were the only two toll-free "express" locksmiths in Brisbane: I would need to find some coins to call other locksmiths. There were toll-free glaziers, however, if I wanted to return to my friend's house and bust some windows instead.

At a loss, I lay down on a bench outside the restaurant and tried to sleep.

For reasons I didn't quite fathom at this semi-tropical locale, dawn came early. Despite an early-morning shower, the sky began lightening up. Australian King Parrots were fussing around, as were kookaburras, and those birds that sound like super-expressive drops of water. For the first time, I got a good look at a Sulfur-Crested Cockatoo, as it prowled around some nearby forbs. All the cockatoo need was a safari hat to look like a Great White Hunter stalking his prey.

At 5:30 a.m., I called Locksmith #2 back. He sighed and asked if I had a mobile number. I said no, I had nothing at all. He said "look, there's nothing much I can do without a mobile number. I want to refer you to another locksmith (Locksmith #3) who lives on that side of Brisbane, but I can't do it without a mobile number. You need to ask someone if you can use their mobile number." I said I was reluctant to ask before, because it had been dark. He said: "Yes, and I can understand that. But this is Australia. Everyone has a mobile number. And they'll help you too. But you need to ask."

So, I reluctantly began walking through Mt. Glorious, looking for help. The village was utterly silent, except for the usual deafening roar of parrots in the treetops.

Walking past a house, I thought I heard some thumping coming from a house. Summoning the courage, I knocked on their door.

A young family and their five kids answered the door. They had moved to Mt. Glorious from Brisbane just the day before. They offered coffee and listened to my story.

The mother looked at her kids, then me, then asked "walking through the woods, weren't you afraid of dingoes?" "Dingoes!", I replied, "no, I was worried about pythons!" She said, "well, they removed dingoes from these hills a while ago and took them over to Moreton Island, but they've been filtering back, and they've been spotted again around here lately." I said "Wow, no I hadn't thought about dingoes - glad I didn't really! It was so dark that dingoes could have walked right up to me, and I would have never known!"

The family lent me their mobile phone and I made contact with Locksmith #3, who promised to come out. But what touched me most were the kids, who ran back upstairs to their bedrooms and gathered their own coins for me, in the event I needed them to place calls at the pay telephone.

After just half an hour, a couple drove up and asked "are you in need of the services of a locksmith?" "Boy, am I ever!", I replied.

By 8 a.m., the drama had concluded. I was in the house again and I succeeded in leaving for the airport on time. Just the damage to the window screen to worry about. And dingoes. And pythons.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 9 Feb 2012, 21:16, 3 replies)

That's some good adventuring
I shivered particularly at the shooing of the huntsman spider away, and the possibility of death by dingo. Strewth!
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Thu 9 Feb 2012, 21:21, closed)

Youre lucky the dropbears didnt get you.

(technocore, Fri 10 Feb 2012, 4:19, closed)

Too right mate
(Simian Typewriter Supplies Pty. Ltd. is house hunting in the neighborhood of infinity, Fri 10 Feb 2012, 11:28, closed)