I made a mistake that might have amounted to a crime. We’ll say that it was in another state and that the statute of limitations for the offense has expired. But I remember it like it was yesterday.

A property manager whom I know and trust sent me the contact information of a tenant who was having a problem with her lock. In a friendly young voice, the tenant explained that her deadbolt wasn’t working properly. She wasn’t home, but I could go and open her door and fix it in her absence. I would find an operating key on her kitchen counter.

When I arrived at her apartment, I could see that the deadbolt was crooked on her door. I got out my lock picks and felt inside the lock. Everything seemed normal. Within a minute the door was open and I was looking at the inside portion of the lock, which also seemed fine. I went to the kitchen to look for the key to see how it would work in the lock. The counter was piled with stuff — mail, coins, boxes of medicine with Cyrillic lettering on them — but no key that I could find. I scanned the apartment, looking for the key on other surfaces. The sofa had a blanket laid neatly across the cushions. The China cabinet was full of fine ornate dishes and glassware. It suddenly occurred to me that this looked very much like an old lady’s apartment. I took out my phone and called the tenant, who confirmed that I had entered the wrong unit.

I quickly left the apartment and closed the door. After looking down the long hallway in both directions, I crouched down and began to use my lock picks to pick the lock again, but this time to the closed position. But I was nervous and my hands weren’t steady enough for the job. I knew that if someone came out of an apartment and found me messing with the lock of a resident to whom I had absolutely no connection, I could quickly find myself in a lot of trouble, whether or not it was an honest mistake. I could be arrested. I could lose my license. I might have to go back to working in the salt mines. I wasn’t going to be able to do this quickly enough. I gave up on the lock picks.

I stood up and basically fled. Once back to my van, I considered what I should do. I thought about leaving a note and a business card in the woman’s apartment, explaining what had happened and apologizing for the error. But then I thought better of leaving a written confession at the scene of the crime. I considered just leaving the door unlocked and forgetting about it. But leaving some lady’s home unsecured like that would have been pretty unethical. She could have been burglarized. More likely, she might have come home and been deeply unsettled to find her door unlocked. I couldn’t do that. Plus, maybe it would prompt her to have someone pull security camera footage.

I resolved that I had to close the door properly. So I took from my van a tool that I was confident would work to pick the lock very quickly. I slipped the tool into my pocket and started back up the stairs to the apartment. As I was halfway up I heard someone following me up. I slowed my pace and let the person pass me. It was an older woman carrying a bag of vegetables. She looked Russian. I followed her down the hall a little before I said, “Excuse me, are you in 304?” She turned to me as she came to her door and said, “Da, tree-oh-four,” rolling her Rs. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and she eyed me suspiciously.

I told her, “Your door is already open.” Her facial expression did not change. Then I nervously launched into an apologetic ramble about who I was and what had happened. All the while she was saying, “Okay, da, okay,” as she nodded her head at me and used her key in the already-unlocked door. I guess she got tired of me because as I carried on, she reached for the handleset of her front door, pushed down on the thumbpress, and quickly went inside, saying, “OK, thenk you,” through the gap in the closing door. I have no idea whether she had understood me or if she was simply too distracted by me to notice that her key had not retracted the bolt. Either way, it seemed like I didn’t have a problem.

Had she arrived fifteen seconds later and found me crouched at her door trying to manipulate her deadbolt without a key, I believe I would have had a hard time effectively explaining myself to her. Although no harm was done, this was a reminder to take great care when entering the homes of people who are not physically present, even if it seems like I have their permission.