I make my way to the door and turn the doorknob. As usual, it sticks. So I turn it more firmly. It still doesn’t turn. Panic mounts in my chest. I press myself against the door, the scratch marks in the wood splintering into my shoulder, and place my right hand squarely on the knob. I try once again to turn it clockwise. But it doesn’t budge. Not even a millimeter. And that’s when I realize what’s going on. The door isn’t stuck. It’s locked.
Wait what
