We all take them for granted. We jerk them around, get them all dirty, neglect them, and still they dutifully perform their jobs.

What is it? A dog? Your employee? Nope. The answer is a doorknob.

You just never know how much you need them until they break. I know this, well, because of a recent episode at my humble abode.

I had just put some steaks on the barbeque pit, which is under a covered patio.  I had forgotten to bring tongs, so instead of walking the ten steps back into the kitchen to grab them, I used my fingers to slap the steaks on the grill.  Now my fingers were icky so I had to use my wrists to try to open the door.  It didn’t work.

I still had on my clothes from work and I was trying really hard to keep them clean.  I found a scrap of paper and wiped my.hands off on that.

The door still wouldn’t open … it was locked tighter than a drum. I knocked loudly and my son came scurrying around the corner. I yelled through the glass that the door was locked. He had a whimsical smile on his face that meant either he was amused his mom was locked outside, or he had successfully pulled off a great practical joke.

He fiddled with the lock, still smiling. It still didn’t open … and I was not amused. “Open the door!” I yelled, sure that he was just playing with me.

He got serious, too. “It won’t open! I promise!” he screamed back through the glass.

By now I was sweating like a pig in these clothes I didn’t want to get dirty, and the steaks needed turning but I had no tongs. And, to top it all off, it was beginning to drizzle.

I had no choice. I ran through the light rain, around the house, through the wet grass, to the front door, into the kitchen, grabbed the tongs, ran back out into the rain, through the wet grass, around the house, to the back patio and turned the steaks.

In the meantime, my son and husband, who had just arrived home, started taking apart the door handle to figure out the problem. Keep in mind that I was outside again, sweating like a pig again, and wet head to toe.

I waited patiently. Time passed.

The steaks needed to come off the pit, but I didn’t have a plate. I yelled for my son to please run around with one, so out he went through the front door, into the rain, through the wet grass, around the house, to the back patio.

Then the heavens let loose. It was POURING down rain. The wet grass became a lake, the driveway a river. There was no way I was going to run back around the house with a plateful of steak in this weather.

My son is such a smart boy. When he brought around the plate, he also brought a fork and knife to check the doneness of the steaks. So even though he and I were stuck outside, it was with a pile of juicy steaks. We dove in.

My husband, meanwhile, had given up on the doorknob because it had some doohicky thing stuck that made it impossible to take apart, and was removing the hinges from the door. He was a hungry man and was watching his dinner disappear before his very eyes.

Before the hinges were all off, the doohicky thing came unstuck and the doorknob came apart. And the door opened. It was sensational.

Dinner was good.  The subsequent shower was heavenly.

But I sure miss having a doorknob.