The BS 2 - "Americans Break Doors"

-A little background: I'm very awkward when I know I've done something bad/wrong/extremely stupid and I confront a person that will be really pissed when they find out I was the one who did the bad/wrong/extremely stupid thing. This is one of those situations.
-A little more background: In the town I was in, I taught English. Other Americans had been there before me to do the same thing. The last guy who was there was a"real American" blond, blue-eyed, and 6'4" and ate a lot of cheeseburgers. (according to the Brazilians, but I doubt this). 
-A final bit of background: I lived in an apartment building that had an entrance door you needed a key to open. Everyone who lived in the building used that door to get in. All of the previous Americans lived in the same apartment that I did.

I just so happened to be in Brazil on September 7th - its independence day. Just like us, they get wasted and cook out, and one of the teachers I worked with had invited me to a party to do just that. And I was like "hell yeah!".

The party mainly consisted of drinking, eating, drinking, and eating. Also lots of drunken discussions of politics and the turning point in my ability to speak Portuguese. (I'm really really good at Portuguese when I'm drunk.) And people trying to set me up with their daughters. But the party isn't the story. Being drunk, now that's the story. Well, the beginning of it.

After I got dropped off at my apartment building, I stumbled up to the door and shoved my key into it. Literally, into it. And I was like, "Oh, oops, I should probably put this in the keyhole." Only I was drunk, so my inner monologue went more like "KEY IN HOLE NOT IN DOOR DUH LOL." And so in went the key into the hole, way more forcefully than needed. Now, the thing about this door was that it was the kind of door where turning the key opens the door. And then... well, then this happened:

I'm trying to ween myself off notebook paper.

The good news was, the door opened. The bad news was, my key broke in the keyhole. And then the door closed. I was inside the building though, and my belligerent self could not have given two shits about the calamitous seed I had just planted. I waddled up to my apartment and collected my laptop so I could go use the internet for free somewhere. (There was no internet in the apartment.) And then I waddled right back down to the door I had recently defiled, pushed it open, and was about to step out when I realized "Ohhhhh... wait. I broke the key IN the keyhole, so if the door closes... it won't open. For anyone." Again, though, I was still drunk so my inner monologue went more like "LOL I BROKE THAT. I SHOULD PROB HIDE IN MY APT SO NO INTERNETS TONIGHT LOLOLOLOLOL."

And then I threw up and passed out until work the next morning.

Then...

I woke up with a start. Whereas the previous night my opinion of what I had done was "fuck the door", that morning my first thought was "FUCK, THE DOOR." I got ready for work, face aflush* already, thinking only "shit fuck shit balls dammit fuck shit damn" and scrambled downstairs. Here's how that went:

I was so shocked my nose disappeared.

The door was GONE. Someone had taken the door. It was no longer there. Poof. Magic. Abracadabra nomodoorzam. And it was all my fault. Fffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

"Okay, be cool" I thought. "No one needs to know it was you." I saw a neighbor person and they were like "Yeah, some asshole broke his key in the door last night" and I was like "Aw man! What a dick" knowing full well that I was that asshole.

"Alright" I thought, "ask someone at work if they know about a spare key... Tell them you lost it."

No one did. They were like "Oh, you could go to the locksmith but you need a copy of the key." Well no shit. Finally my supervisor got there, and I told her my situation. Except I lied and I said that I lost my key. She told me to find the landlord who was probably working at the grocery store attached to the apartment building and to ask her if I could take her key to go copy it. And I was like "Heh... oookay. Yeah. I'll do that."

But the problem was, the landlord knew that some asshole broke their key in the keyhole. If I went and asked her, she'd know that I was that asshole. Which wouldn't be a problem if her face didn't look like this all the time:

Her name is Patricia.

So you can see where my trepidation stemmed from. But I had no other choice. As soon as they put the fixed door back, I had no way of getting in the building. "Maybe I can just go hide in my apartment for the rest of forever." But I couldn't. By the time I got off work, the new door had already been put in place. Out of desperation, I tried using the little stub of the key I had left to open it and obviously that didn't work.

So it was either talk to Patricia or live on the street with the stray dogs and this one drunk guy. And although that sounded more appealing to me, I had to go talk to her. All my shit was in that apartment. Stupidly, I thought "I'll just lie to her. I'll say I lost my key. That'll work. Worked on everyone else today." Except for my aforementioned awkwardness.

I went to the grocery store and found her, and she looked really pissed. She saw me and glared, like always, and glared even harder when she saw that I was walking up to her, very timidly. I swore I heard her think "If this mofo talks to me, I'mma gonna roast his bones and EAT HIM." So it was time for the confrontation:

I had to roll a will save.

Me: "Uhhhh h-hi P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-patricia... H-how are----"
Patricia: "WHAT DO YOU WANT."
Me: "Well, you see, I, uh, I lost my... I, umm... Well, I..."
Patricia: "YOU'RE THE ASSHOLE WHO BROKE HIS KEY IN THE KEYHOLE AREN'T YOU."
Me: "M-me? Umm... No? Yes. I would be that asshole, yup. I'm... I'm really s-s-sorry. I, uhh... Oh God please don't eat me."
Patricia: "HERE. TAKE THIS KEY. I DON'T EVEN CARE ANYMORE. YOU AMERICANS EAT TOO MANY CHEESEBURGERS AND YOU ALWAYS BREAK YOUR KEYS IN THE KEYHOLE. THE LAST STUPID AMERICAN DID THE SAME THING. DON'T DO IT AGAIN."
Me: "Wait he did?"
Patricia: "YOU COME HERE TO BRAZIL AND YOU THINK THAT THINGS ARE MADE TO WORK LIKE THEY DO IN THE U.S. BUT THEY DON'T. BE MORE GENTLE WITH THE KEY FROM NOW ON. OR ELSE."
Me: "Oh... okay. Yes sir MA'AM YES MA'AM BYE."

And I ran. I ran so far away. And from that point on, I was oh so gentle with the key. And I stopped eating cheeseburgers. And I learned that things in Brazil don't have the durability that I was used to them having in the U.S. Especially the washers. But the story of the washer is for another day.

The end.

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*I want to point out that spellcheck doesn't think that aflush is a word, but it totally is.