Locked and Mocked

So, I work at a hardware store with rowdy boys and rough and tough girls. Everyone gets along in a pick-on-everyone type of way. It definitely is not for the faint of heart. A funny thing happened the other day, and I thought I would share.
Now the store that I work at is about a hundred years old. It is a very worn, tired building with many dark, cobweb infested places. To top it all, there is an attic where all of our back stock goes. It is also piled high with several dusty outdated suppliers. Just today I found an old cash register with the old kind of buttons you have to press down hard to make work.
Anyways, to my story. I went up the attic's old creaky stairs to find lost product tucked away in a dark corner somewhere. I could hear the tine roof rattling from outside and avoided the rat traps set up here and there. After finding what I needed, and sneezing away the dust that filled the air, I made my way back downstairs. I flicked off the lights, everything falling under a bleak haze. With the product in hand, I turn the doorknob.
And it turns,
and turns,
and turns,
and turns.
The door doesn't open. I stare at the door knob, remembering a fellow coworker, a mayor of a nearby town, joking about locking people up stairs occasionally. Why would you do that to me? I didn't do anything to him! But no, the door wasn't locked. The knob simply kept turning like a deranged carousel. I realized the door knob was broken. I stare at the thick wooden door that bared my way, the dark attic's dust curling around me.
My coworkers muffled conversations could be heard through the door. There is an office on the other side of the wall, surely someone will hear me. I sat down the product, make a fist, and pound the door. It's a solid door. Not very forgiving on bare fists. I hear someone walk past. I yell out! Can't they hear me? I'm right on the other side of the wall! Apparently not. I smile and shake my head, fishing out my phone and dial in those stores number.
"Millers home center, how can I help you?"
"Ah. . . . Hay, Phil. This is Heather. Can you open the door to the upstairs? I can't get out."
"Oh. Sure."
I waited in the dark, twiddling my thumbs, knowing that I would be mocked the moment my co-workers know what had happened. I sighed and waited for the door to open. In no time at all, the doorknob opens and light floods the stairway. I step out and look at those who are in the office. They stared at me, their looks asking what happened.
"I was pounding on the door," I said! "Are you all so busy you couldn't hear me?"
"Ha! You probably broke the lock while you were up there!"
"No I didn't!"
And so the mocking began. After a lot of laughs and jabs at my own ability to open a door, the excitement died down.
For a week or so afterwards, I didn't shut the attic door behind me. I don't want to be locked up there again. I don't want to be accused of breaking locks by merely touching them!
Oh well, makes for a good story.