Author: admin

Hero Mother

Today a customer asked me to tell her the weirdest service call I’ve ever had. There are a lot of candidates, but this is the one that sprung to mind:

It was a hot August afternoon and a woman in southern Bellevue called me from her neighbor’s phone, saying she was locked out of her condo. I took down her address, quoted her a price and an ETA, and fired up my van.

When I arrived at the apartment complex I quickly located the right building and unit but did not find a stranded customer. I walked around for a few minutes and didn’t see her anywhere. Then I called the neighbor whose phone she had used to contact me in the first place. The neighbor came right out and recounted her interaction with the woman. She said, “Yeah, it was weird. She was limping and her arms were all scraped up. And she had two little dogs with her. I’ve never seen her before. I have no idea where she went.” I thanked her, did a sweeping scan of the complex one last time, and walked back to my van to get on with my day.

I was just pulling out of the parking lot when I saw an older woman sitting under a Japanese maple tree with a couple of dogs. I parked the van again and approached her. She gave me a look of happy recognition the moment she saw me. Up close, I could see that the dogs were a dachshund and a Chihuahua. She looked generally disheveled and she wasn’t wearing any shoes. And, like the neighbor said, her arms and legs had been bleeding. She looked kind of like a vagrant.

We introduced ourselves and she escorted me to her door. It was not the address she had given me over the phone, which I pointed out to her. “Oh,” she said. “I guess I misspoke.”  I was suspicious. As is routine, I asked her for ID. She lifted her hands, palms to the sky, and told me it was inside. That’s not unusual. People don’t always make sure they have ID on them before they accidentally lock themselves out. But I was already a little dubious about the whole thing and wondering if I should just wish her well and move on. Instead I squinted at her like David Carradine playing the role of a Chinese monk in that old TV show, and thought to pepper her with one last round of questions. She broke pretty easily.

“Why did you get your own address wrong?”

“Well, it’s not really my place,” she said, as if she were confiding in me.

“What?! Then I can’t let you in!” I said, exasperated.

Immediately she realized her error. “Ohhh, nooo! You’ve gotta let me in! Pleeeeease let me in!” she begged.

“I can’t let you in to a property that’s not yours.”

“It’s my daughter’s place. I’m here dogsitting.”

“Where is she? Can we call her?”

“I don’t think so. She’s in Tahiti. And I don’t know her number. It’s in my phone, and my phone is inside.”

This was all plausible, but it didn’t explain why she looked like she’d just rolled out of a dumpster and then gotten into a fight with a bunch of alley cats, which then stole her shoes. I asked her what happened and she told me the story.

“Well, I went out on the balcony with the dogs and I didn’t realize that the sliding door would lock behind me when I shut it. It was really hot up there. It’s right in the sun and the floor was like a griddle. It was burning my feet. I was really afraid the dogs were going to overheat and die. I tried to use the propane tank from the grill to break the glass door but I couldn’t swing it hard enough. I was really scared for the dogs. I was calling for help but nobody came. Finally I dropped the dogs one by one into the bush below. Then I jumped into the bush too. That’s why I’m all cut up. My shoes are inside. Normally I have shoes.”

“Show me this balcony,” I said.

We went around to the back of the building, the dogs scampering along behind her, and she pointed up at a second-story balcony. Underneath it was a large hedge that looked like it had been split in half. I was convinced.

“Is your purse inside the unit?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have an ID in there?”

“Of course.”

“The first thing we’ll do when we get in is go to your purse and grab your ID.”

“Sure! Fine! No problem!”

I got the door open with little effort and the dogs bounded up the stairs inside the unit. My customer followed them up, limping the whole way. As if there was any remaining doubt, she got to the top of the stairs and pointed to her purse. Next to it was a tumbler filled to the middle with red wine. She pulled out her wallet, showed me her ID, and paid me.

“I hope your daughter appreciates you,” I told her before heading down the stairs and back to my van to get to the next job.

Schlage Encode

Schlage has introduced a new keypad lock that doesn’t require an intermediary hub to connect to your wifi. It’s called the Encode. Currently it’s available at Amazon and the big box stores for about $250. Smaller retailers can’t get their hands on it yet. I would wait at least until the end of 2019 before buying one so the manufacturers can work out the kinks, but I’m happy with what I’ve seen so far. The motor sounds healthier than the one found in Schlage’s Connect and Sense models. It also has a more compact design despite the increased functionality.  And supposedly it is designed to integrate well with that creepy system that lets Amazon deliverymen walk into your house.

The only negative thing I’ve noticed about it so far is that the sticker with the random factory-assigned user codes is just under the battery cover. On other models this sticker is only accessible if you have a screwdriver; with this one, a visitor to your home could remove that battery cover and photograph the sticker in a matter of seconds. So if you buy this lock, make sure to move that sticker before putting it into commission. Otherwise, it looks like it will be a pretty good lock.Schlage Encode battery cover removed

Locksmith Observation

When encountering a jammed lock, men who spend lots of time lifting weights are more likely than most to determine that the best course of action is to smash through the door, damaging or destroying the frame, the hardware, and the door itself.

Paranoia

Last week a customer told me that strange things were happening and that his wife dismissed his concerns as paranoid. He recounted two recent incidents of people rifling through his car and gym locker without apparently stealing anything. In most cases I don’t dare tell a customer I think he is experiencing paranoid (or “persecutory”) delusions, especially when I’m pretty sure it’s the case. It can only lead to trouble. But this was a very smart immigrant working for a major software developer and it did not sound like he was describing a longstanding issue. I told him that if people close to him were suggesting he has paranoid delusions, he should be aware that it’s an actual diagnosable problem and should consider what they were telling him rather than allowing a small thing to become all-consuming.

Once I arrived at a client’s apartment door for an appointment and had to knock, ring the doorbell, and call several times before he arrived at the door in a bathrobe. He apologized and explained that he’d been in the shower and didn’t hear the phone ring because of the radio. Indeed, it was blaring. I asked him to turn the stereo off so I could talk to him. He clomped over to his stereo to turn it down and then clomped back over to me. Then he dove into a long saga about how the girls in the apartment below him—recent college graduates—were terrible neighbors and had been harassing him relentlessly, breaking into his apartment and causing all kinds of mischief. As he told me this, he continued to stomp around the floor of his apartment. He was trying to drive the miscreants below to move away. They were the worst neighbors, he insisted. The previous week his surveillance camera had caught them skulking around inside his apartment while he was at work. Alas, he accidentally deleted the footage before he could turn it over to the police.

I had another client who sold her house and moved to a different city because she was fed up with her neighbors breaking into her home and stealing random items like car insurance bills, one shoe from a pair, and can openers. She’d spent a fortune having high-security locks installed on her exterior and interior doors, and then having them rekeyed over and over again. She would roam around her large unheated house with a passel of keys hanging from a lanyard around her neck, searching through them to find the right key to get into each room.

Another client was convinced that someone had broken into her house and left a glass in the sink. It was probably an ex-boyfriend, she thought. A different customer had just installed an expensive new lock but was convinced that her imaginary persecutors had tampered with it to make it slightly less resistant to lockpicking. Someone else called me to change her locks for the second time in a month because an electric blanket went missing from her bedroom closet.

There are certain commonalities in all of these cases. The imagined antagonists never seem to steal anything of value or do anything to threaten the health or livelihood of the victim. The violations all seem pointless. The subjects are normally employed with regular jobs, though some are a little eccentric and many tend to be hoarders. They often point to barely visible scratches on windowsills and doorframes as evidence of furtive entries. They usually have a clear idea of who the perpetrator is.

In all cases, they are genuinely suffering. It’s a devastating condition to have. People who imagine repeated victimization at the hands of mischievous home invaders feel the same range of terrible emotions that anyone does after a home is broken into. But they experience it over and over again. And what’s worse, the people closest to them don’t believe the stories and get tired of hearing about the problem. It can ruin relationships and leave people isolated from friends and family.

When I encounter these cases I try to come up with cost-conscious ways of making the customers feel more secure, but resist requests to repeatedly rekey their locks. I prefer to avoid customers who are experiencing paranoid delusions. If I were less scrupulous I might lick my chops at the fount of repeat business, but I’d much rather spend my time doing useful work than taking advantage of someone’s mental illness. Plus, I’m often concerned that a misstep could cause them to turn their suspicion toward me. More than anything, these customers make me feel kind of useless. Dozens of times throughout the week I’m presented with real issues that I’m able to completely resolve. This is one that I’m helpless to do anything about.

Satin Brass

For a few years I’ve been hearing people say that the next big trend in residential hardware will be the satin brass finish. The ubiquitous shiny brass finish fell out of favor years ago, largely replaced by satin nickel and aged bronze. Lately I’ve been seeing some new construction outfitted with shiny chrome door hardware. But just last month I noticed for the first time some satin brass offerings from Schlage on the shelves of the big box hardware stores. And I installed some last week. Along with this hardware they’re supplying the darker screws and latch plates that come with antique brass hardware, which is an interesting choice. I wonder if this will take off.

A Brief Note on Backset

Backset is a term related to the way a door ibackset backset backsets prepped for lock installation. It refers to the distance between the edge of the door and the center of the door hardware. Most residential doors have a backset of 2-3/8” and most commercial doors use a slightly longer backset of 2-3/4”. These are not hardfast rules. Though some hardware is adjustable for either backset, it’s not always the case and sometimes you need to consider backset when ordering new locks.

Back in the ‘60s and early ‘70s they thought it was cute to install locks with a 5” backset. Nowadays that creates a bit of a problem when the offset backsetlocks fail because you can’t just walk into Home Depot and buy a lock made for one of these oddly prepped doors from the 1960s. In those days, houses were rarely secured with anything more than locking doorknobs, so it also presents an issue when you want to add a deadbolt to the door. You have to decide whether to install a deadbolt that’s out of alignment with the knob, or to find one with an extended latchbolt. If you take the latter route it will always be a hassle to service or replace the lock. I usually advocate for the offset.

Here’s a case where someone decided to give up on looking for the specialty hardware. Instead he just installed a new deadbolt with a standard backset right next to the lock with the longer backset.

Hardware Tip

If you’re buying new door hardware for your house, I recommend avoiding options that have rectangular escutcheons. They look really sharp in the showroom but look kind of sloppy at home. Door hardware tends to rotate a bit as you use it. If your hardware has straight sides and is right next to something long and level (like, say, the edge of a door) it’s fairly conspicuous when it’s askew, even by just one or two degrees.

Neighbor Lady

I’m aware that in the course of my work I can make folks a little uneasy. My cargo van is dingy and unmarked, and looks out of place in most of the neighborhoods I drive it through. My hands are generally dirty and I often have a drill hooked to my belt. People see me and they get the feeling I might not belong there, not least if I’m picking the lock on a mailbox or looking for an open window. People eye me with suspicion as I drive down their streets. I do my best to defuse those concerns with a smile or a friendly wave, and it’s surprising how quickly the wariness drops from their faces when I do.

At the same time, I try to do my work with a certain amount of discretion and I’m always considerate of my customers’ privacy. My customers don’t necessarily want it advertised that they goofed up and locked themselves out, or that they’re preparing to rent out their space in violation of HOA rules, or that they have to evict a member of the family. It isn’t my place to say what anyone else knows about their doings. Sometimes, though, I’m put in a position where I have to decide whether it’s more important that I respect a customer’s privacy or that I allay a neighbor’s suspicions. My rule of thumb is that I should try to offer just enough information to quell people’s legitimate concerns about what I might be up to, but I never feel compelled to satisfy a neighbor’s idle curiosity at the expense of my customer’s privacy.

Yesterday I had to make this type of judgment call when I went to change the lock on the front door of an upscale waterfront condo in Kirkland. After I got into the building using the entry code given to me by the property manager, I went up to the third floor, retrieved the key from the contractor box hanging from the door, and went in. The apartment was capacious, with high ceilings, fine millwork, and a magnificent view of Lake Washington. As I got to work taking the complicated lock off the door, I saw the elderly woman across the hall poke her head out of her front door and eye me nervously. “Just changing locks between tenancies,” I said. I didn’t think I was telling her anything she wouldn’t have known or been able to figure out just from living where she did and observing me. We exchanged some pleasantries and she went back into her apartment.

Shortly after that I had to go out to my van for my toolbox. As I was walking out the front door, I passed another elderly resident of the building. She wore an expensive cardigan and her hair was elegantly coiffed. “What are you doing here?” she asked me with an air of authority. I smiled at her but didn’t slow my pace or offer anything in the way of an answer. When I came back from my van, she was lingering at the door. I used the keypad again to enter and she followed me into the elevator. She asked me again what I was doing and I lifted the tools in my hand as I said, “I’m working.” “What are you doing? And in which unit?” Her tone smacked of privilege. I looked her squarely in the face and said, “Ma’am, it’s not really any of your business.” “Yes it is my business,” she said. “I live in this building!” “No ma’am, you’re just being nosy,” I told her. “Well, if you won’t explain yourself then I’m going to call the police!” she said. This was escalating quickly. “I invite you to do so,” I told her with a nod of my head. For a moment she was flustered, her bluff having been called. She seemed unaccustomed to not being acknowledged.

The elevator bell dinged and the door opened onto the third floor. Enraged and indignant, the woman followed me out of the elevator and to the door of the unit on which I was working. I took the key out of my pocket and unlocked the door. The woman tried to follow me into the apartment. Not wanting to let a stranger into an apartment that was not mine, I said, “Ma’am, you can’t come in here,” and I quickly closed the door most of the way to block her from entering. She put both of her palms on the door and tried to force her way in. Now, I’m a little guy—5’6” tall and 125 pounds with my hair wet—but I’m still an adult man. There’s little chance of me losing the door-pushing game to an old lady. I planted my foot in front of the door so it wouldn’t open more than about six inches. Through the gap she called, “Gerald! Gerald!” I looked down the apartment’s spacious empty corridor as the echo of her reedy voice bounced around the walls, and was struck by the weirdness of what was happening. “This is a vacant unit,” I told her. Leaving my foot where it was, I crouched down and got to work at taking the lock off the door so I could rekey it. All the while she was feebly trying to push the door open. Again she insisted that I tell her what I was doing. If she’d simply stopped and looked at me, she would have figured it out pretty quickly, but she was more interested in being validated than getting answers. I won’t swear this really happened, but in my memory she said, “I have a right to know what you’re doing. I live in this building!” as she balled up her fists and stomped her foot.

The woman from across the hall heard the commotion and came out. “I don’t know why this guy is being so obnoxious! He won’t tell me what he’s doing!” They discussed the situation and I tried to keep my cool as I worked on the lock, but the stress of the situation made me a little clumsy and slowed me down. I also replied a few times to the angry woman’s rebukes. I never raised my voice but I’m sure I let my annoyance show. When I had the lock off the door and was ready to bring it to my van for rekeying, I wasn’t sure what I should do. I stood up and said, “Now I have to go back to my van for a few minutes. You MAY NOT go in there while I’m gone.” She looked surprised and insisted that she wouldn’t go into an apartment that wasn’t hers. I was comforted that the other neighbor was there.

When I got back, the hallway was empty. I reassembled the freshly rekeyed lock, secured the apartment, and deposited the new keys into the contractor box. Then I knocked on the neighbor’s door so I could apologize to her. She shouldn’t have been dragged into that mess, I told her. She was sweet as she expressed her sympathy and wished me a better day moving forward. I didn’t see the other woman on my way out of the building.

This episode was peculiar because I’m always thinking that neighbors should be more vigilant. Attentive neighbors are one of the best lines of defense against burglaries. I sometimes shake my head in disbelief when I see the noisy and destructive ways that burglars have broken into homes in tightly populated neighborhoods, and learn that no neighbors approached them or called the police. This lady in the cardigan was being vigilant. She was also being rude, nosy, and entitled. But I imagine that somewhere underneath all that she was concerned for her and her neighbors’ security, and we should all want that from the old ladies who live nearby. I would have preferred that she be polite to me, though.

Strike Plates

If you’ve ever done any research on what kind of deadbolt to buy, you’ve probably read that whatever you choose, it’s important to have a strike plate that’s affixed to the jamb with long screws that sink into the frame of the house. This is to stop the door from being easily kicked in. When Consumer Reports tested the strike plates of a number of different brands, they found that Schlage’s fared pretty well against repeated attacks. I like these strikes because they’re beefy and yet they’re completely concealed by the decorative plate that also comes with the Schlage deadbolts. Generally, I think they’re sufficient.

When customers are particularly concerned about door kick-ins, I like to install the 11” plates sold under various brand names like Entry Armor, Defiant, and Gatehouse. You can get them at the big box stores for around $10. They have six long screws that go deep into the studs and they’re reasonably attractive, coming in a few different finishes. They’re also good for covering up mistakes from prior installations.

I’m aware of some products out there that run the whole length of the door frame. They have names like StrikeMaster II Pro and Door Security Pro XL. They’re not particularly pretty and I suspect they’re primarily purchased by people who hope to be able to buy time to flush large quantities of drugs down the toilet when the police are at their door with a battering ram. I think they’re overkill, especially if you don’t have bars on your windows. What’s the point of having an impenetrable door if six feet away there’s a very easy point of entry?

If you’ve never done it before, go around your house and look at the strike plates on your door frames. If some lazy contractor only installed them with ¾” screws, you might want to spend a bit of time this weekend making them a little more secure.