Which Side Are You

I had dinner with Sharon tonight, in what appears to be the only Vietnamese restaurant in the great city of B'more.  It was lovely.  Until we tried to leave.  Sharon kept turning the knob and the door wasn't opening.  "Am I missing something here?"  She asked, then turned to let me have a try.  The apparatus seemed simple enough, so I turned the knob.  Still nothing.  Then I noticed that the latch wasn't moving no matter how we turned the knob.  Soon the owner came over.  "Are we doing something wrong?"  We asked.  "No, I think we may be locked in."

The latch still firmly in place, the owner went scavenging and came back with a screw driver.  Still no luck.  (All this while Sharon and I just stood there next to the door, a table of people still eating behind us, because the place was so small and there was nowhere else to be.)  He went back again and returned with an electric drill.  Now we were getting somewhere.  Finally, with some assistance from customers arriving from the other side of the door, another customer trying to leave who had apparently had some experience with this, and that customer's credit card, we were released.  I'd like to go back there again sometime.  But I'm afraid I'd never get home.  And I'd like to get home some day.  If only for all the good Vietnamese food that awaits me in Boston and Lowell.