My Life As A Dog

Two nights ago, I turned into a dog. I mean, not really. I was still a large caucasian male human, but I had the same existence as a dog for a little while. And wow, did it blow.
I stepped a few feet into my hallway to throw away a rotted head of lettuce, as any dog would do, and a gust of wind whipped through my apartment as a result of the hall door having been opened along with the kitchen window. The ensuing vacuum sucked warm air out of the living room and, borne on the winds of folly, the ajar door *snicked* shut behind me. I stared, incredulous and dog-like. Then I felt the cold lead of dread form a weighted pool in my stomach. No keys. No wallet. No phone. Only a t-shirt and jeans, admittedly un-dog-like things to be caught outside of my apartment with. Of course, none of my roommates were home. My roommates are either law school students or working in finance, which is code for "they get home pretty fucking late". It was 6:15 PM. I did that awesome, useless thing all locked out creatures do, trying the door knob just, you know, just in case it like, had somehow unlocked? No dice. I was screwed- I had been told we were going to the park, and I now found myself at the vet. With temperatures plunging into the teens a walk was not an option for my t-shirted self. I went downstairs and intercommed security. For $50 they would send someone to let me back into my apartment. And no, they would not contact one of my roommates for me to let them know I was at home and locked out. Thanks, but no thanks. $50 is a week's worth of kibble, and there's no better way to feel like a sucker than shelling out cash for a clumsy mistake. It was like a parking ticket I wouldn't have to pay if I just promised not to move my car for another four days. So I did what every dog does when its master strands them. I sat. And waited. And waited. Every time the elevator dinged, I lifted my head up expectantly. I would stand up and pace in circles, looking longingly at the door. People came and went, none of them the person who could let me in. With each rustle in the hallway there was brilliant, blazing hope, and with every unrecognizable face there was utter, miserable, defeat. I was a dog tied to a post, wondering what the hell could be taking so long in Target. At around 9:30 PM I had briefly considered paying the $50, my night wasted, cold groceries turning room temperature on the counter mere feet away from me through a locked door. I had examined every inch of the stairwell, hung from a hot water pipe, tried to think of creative ways to prop the fire door open (another miserable defeat), and grown accustomed to sitting on the cold hard floor. It was the equivalent of sniffing and pawing at the soil. Utter, shitty, boredom. Then, the elevator chimed, and my roommate stepped in front of the door, his back to me. My tail wagged incessantly, and I rose behind him like a terrifying spectre of death (unknowingly) and yelped with glee. I kissed him on the face. I actually did that. Because for three hours I was a dog, and I was happy someone had finally come home.