The day my husband got locked in a toilet

It was a Saturday afternoon.  Eilidh was asleep.  I was clearing up after my lunch.  My phone started ringing.  It was Mr H.  I thought he was phoning me to tell me that he was about to leave Estepona with our new (to us) car.

Nope.  He was phoning me to tell me that he was locked in a toilet at the cafe where he’d decided to have some lunch before driving back to Malaga.  He didn’t know the name of the cafe.

The toilet had no windows.  And no gap under the door.

How were we going to get him out of there?  I knew where the cafe was – it was right next door to the garage where we’d bought the car.  I used Apple Maps to try to find the name of the cafe, so that I could find the phone number, but that was ineffectual.  Frankly, I think Apple Maps suck.  I decided to phone Denis.  Denis was the man who had sold us the car.  He was born in Germany to Spanish parents and speaks perfect English.

“Ah, Rebecca, yes, I know Simon is stuck in the toilet.  I’m on my way there now.”

Mr H had clearly had the same idea.

20 minutes later, Simon was still stuck in the toilet.  The cafe owners had decided to send for the carpenter who had fitted the door in the first place.

10 minutes later, the carpenter still hadn’t arrived.  Denis decided to take matters into his own hands.

He’d seen his father (who owns the garage) wielding a circular saw that morning.  (What you need a circular saw for, as an owner of a second hand car garage, I’m not sure.  But that’s an aside.)  He went in search of the saw, found it, and sawed the lock from the door.

Mr H was free.

Thank you Denis!

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *