the fear of being locked in an enclosed space
Earlier this evening, Georgia and I were having a conversation about models and their typical haven't-got-a-clue mindset. If you consider any stereotype about models, you'll most likely include that they're just not the brightest apple in the bunch. Well just under thirty minutes ago I'm quite certain we took the gold in 'The Most Stereotypical Dimwit Model' award.
It was a relatively normal, quiet evening. I was on Skype chatting away, while doing my nails and Georgia was off in her own world as well. There came a point however, when we could hear a young child outside absolutely screaming his little head off, as if he had been run over, or were being attacked, or was even simply not granted the candy or toy that had caught his eye at the moment. Since I had my headphones on, I just tuned the noise out as with most city noises, but after 15 minutes it was still carrying on. Who could possibly let their child carry on like that for so long? Naturally, I was soon distracted by my conversation and forgot about it till another twenty or twenty-five minutes had passed. Around this point there developed a steady beating somewhere in our building or close to it, as if someone might have started a housework project that involved hammering after they came home from work. It was loud, and persistent - but simply wasn't matching the screaming we heard so distantly away.
Only about five minutes later did we hear some extremely masculine and powerful yells through-out the building. We recognized the sound was coming from the upstairs of our apartment so we jumped out of bed and rushed up. When we came to our front door we heard, "This is the police! Open up!" Of course, this is when Geo asks, "Do we open it? Is that to us?!" She was right in the sense that they weren't actually beating on our door, but they were on our floor so we opened in hopes to sort everything out. The shouting was louder now, much louder. In hurried conversation they asked if we knew where the screams were coming from and asked permission to come inside to do a check about it, we obliged.
There's a second room for models around the corner of the first floor, and the two officers ran to the shut door. The shouts were as loud as thunder now. One officer yelled for anyone inside to stand back before exploding through the door, where they discovered no one on the other side of. And in the next moment we heard it, the whole explanation in six words, "I'M LOCKED IN THE BATHROOM! HELP!!"
Oh, yes. Sophie, who just arrived today from Glasgow, had honestly locked herself inside her own bathroom. It took only a few minutes after that for the officers to break down the door, in which Sophie ran out of in full force to escape with cheeks as red as fire.
In shock, Georgia and I were amazed what the evening had turned in to. From congratulating ourselves for not being just another one of the models who had even less brains than fat, to taking almost fifty minutes to realize the screams were coming from within our own apartment just upstairs. In the end the officers had a good laugh about the whole thing, and thankfully after some time Sophie calmed down enough to laugh at the entire predicament as well.