Tonight was fix-the-back-door night, and I made an inglorious botch of it. Not only was the door a tad larger than normal, what with the tremendous humidity of late; one of the two screws holding the deadlatch in place had worked itself just loose enough to be in the way, and there wasn’t any way on earth I was going to get that sucker back into place, even after I had managed to get the doorknob off without destroying it.
So it was time to call in the pros, and fortunately, there are pros working after six-thirty. (They charge you extra, but not so much as to make you feel like you should have waited until morning.) The guy was thorough: he replaced the deadlatch with a new one, repositioned the striker plate and gave it some new screws, theoretically long enough to reach the nearest stud, and did likewise on the upper hinge, having detected (as I didn’t) that the door was hanging ever so slightly out of plumb.
“As long as you’re here,” I began, and in no time at all he’d cleaned up and adjusted the deadbolt on the front door, which wasn’t exactly loose but which might conceivably have given ideas to J. Random Burglar. All this and still not in triple digits, I marveled. Consider this an endorsement of Don’s Mobil Lock Shop in Norman.