You won’t believe what happened to top real-estate broker Joanna Cutler! She went through a horrific ordeal! The other night, Joanna went to deposit her trash in the trash room on the fourteenth floor of the Plaza, where she lives, when all of a sudden the door slammed shut behind her and there she was, stranded all alone with a bunch of dirty Lean Cuisine cartons and empty bottles of Chardonnay. She shoved at the door, she told the Post, but it wouldn’t budge. “Then I started using my feet on the door, then banged with my hands, my back, and my butt.… I kept trying to free up whatever was jamming the door with the tips of my fingers. I was trying to slip them underneath the door, but something sharp cut them,” she said. She screamed, but no one heard her. She was alone. But that wasn’t the worst part. No. The worst part, the part that Joanna could not bear, was knowing that she was separated from her Fabergé egg and thinking that she may never see it again, since she had left her apartment door open and thus feared the robbers might come. Joanna loves her Fabergé egg, as you can glean from the photo above; loves it even more, probably, than Astrakhan vests, Versace throw pillows, and the smell of Christian Dior’s Poison. In fact, no one knows this, but she has secretly named the egg Karl. During the seven hours that she stayed awake in what the Post calls her “dank hell,” it was the thought of Karl that kept her alive, until at last a building worker heard her screams and let her out, blinking, into the light.