We inherited a grill with our place, and although we’ve owned the place for a year, we finally got around to using it. (It’s like we were busy last summer or something.)
I discovered that the grill is locked to a bush, which probably explains why it’s still there. (Actually, our neighborhood is polite and ignores when you forget to put your stroller away for a few days.)
Anyway, the lock. It was a combination lock. A FOUR DIGIT combination lock. Rats! Three digits, and Jason and I could have sat outside in lawn chairs, drinking beer and going through the combinations (000, 001, 002). Four digits, and you’re talking about a lot of beer.
I emailed the previous owner, who said she didn’t specifically remember, but try 1111 or 1313. I started with 0000.
That was it. Seriously. The satisfaction of the lock popping open on the first try evoked in me a self-chuckle that sounded like a cartoon villain running into the woods after tying the damsel to the tracks.
I was behind this bush, cackling, right as someone walked by. On the other side of the bush.
She said, “Oh! I thought the bush made that noise.”