It’s only taken me seven thousand years to figure it out but, bless my heart, I did. I figured out the root of all my problems. The one thing that connects all the things that cause annoyance in my life. And that thing is doors. Think about it. Everyone who sullies my life crossed the threshold of a door moments before slinging their slop at me.
To prove my radical and controversial hypothesis I offer the following ten minute slice of my day.
I pass through my office door and, within moments, the front door opens. A gentleman steps in as I continue walking towards him. I see his face, he’s holding the door open as he says,
“I want you to come outside.”
I’m sure you feel this is an abnormal request but, trust me, it is not. Because the office door is the nearest in a large expanse of asphalt people often feel it is their only hope to get some satisfaction. Whether that satisfaction comes from wanting to ask a question most times I have no possible chance of answering correctly; to inform me that there has been a car accident on the street; letting me know that two or more outside dwellers are locked in some type of fisticuffs; or some other happening that, although has no connection to me, the business, or my interests at all, they feel I should be informed of.
As I’m walking to this gentleman the telephone rings. It’s my girlfriend. We begin some small talk as I walk towards the man as he begins to tell me why he would like me to go outside.
“I want you to change my tire.”
“Did someone just ask you to change their tire?”
“Yep.” I answer my girlfriend. As she’s going on about the nerve of people I begin to spin around calling over my shoulder,
“Not a chance in hell. There’s a gas station on the corner.”
I slump into my desk chair as the gentleman walks out of the door and it slowly shuts behind him. I look at the silent and shut door wondering when the next grotesquerie of the gateway will approach.
Turns out I didn’t have to wait long. Moments after completing my telephone conversation the door once again swings open. A stinging slap of crisp, cool air surrounds me, bracing me for the next onslaught.
In walks another male of the species. He too is holding the door open allowing the breeze to shimmy the placards and posts on the sale board. I look at his face and see shock and agitation. If he covered bewilderment he could be in the running for denizen of the month.
In his hand I see waving a hundred dollar bill. Assuming he’s not just showing the world his numismatic pride I move towards the payment collection area.
“I just got out of my car and a girl in the parking lot propositioned me.”
He looks back and forth from me to the offending bus stop hooker. When he puts his attention fully on me I say,
“What do you need? Change for the hundred?”
Do you need more proof that doors are where all evil and stupid passes? I think not! But I’ll give you another one. It’s the kind of full service guy I am. Remember the tire changing guy? You’d think he’d be long gone, wouldn’t you? And that’s why doors are always hitting you on the ass on your way out. You underestimate them.
Once again, the door bursts open. I look up and see the tire guy. It’s about half an hour after his first appearance so I figure, having changed many tires in my life, he’s come back to tell me all is a-okay in his world.
“Seriously,” he says. “I want you to change my tire.”
I look this man, not an infirm man, not an aged man, and say,
“I’d love to but I think the proximity of me, you, and a tire iron would be too much temptation.”
To say my day was filled with more people swinging open the door and trying to slip their weak ass shit by me would be the truth. But, having proven my point beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’ll end by telling you about the doors near the end of my day.
It’s a nice, crisp, clear evening. The kind of evening that can put your past behind you and enjoy the moment. I’m in the bus watching many methods of egress pass. With each door there is a hope nothing bad ever passes through them.
I’m not saying only evil things happen around doors. No, some good things happen. Such as, my walking through the door of my local liquor store. That’s usually a pleasant experience. I often don’t think much of it. I wander through the store on autopilot. I know what I want, where it is, and how much it costs. So, to limit the possibility that I could come into contact with any door walkers, I even have the exact amount ready.
This time, in front of me, is a guy struggling to put together even this simple a transaction. Finally, with the help of the calm and efficient cashier, it does come to a completion. Before the guy is away from the counter I reach over his shoulder and hand my money to the guy. We exchange simple and quick pleasantries and I begin to exit through the door.
Of course, the guy who was in front of me in line is now in front of me to exit. What is taking him so long? Is he traversing an invisible moat? Move it along Charlemagne, the Templar’s are coming!
He finally passes through the door with me close on his heels. He opens the door of his automobile and I walk to the curb to await the cessation of traffic. I notice the driver has pulled beside me in the quest for movement.
When the traffic does part I notice that he’s heading up the same street as me. I don’t give it a second though nor would I unless he pulled into the parking spot of the house directly across the street from the liquor store.
Let me state that again. He lives directly across the street. One street. He can look into the store from his living room. If he moves his head in the right angle, he can probably see it from his kitchen. I could stand on his front porch and throw a baseball through the window of the establishment. And I’m not bring the heat like I used to. In other words, it’s close.
I’m in the middle of the street thinking,
“Geez, even if I was coming home from work I think I’d pull into my driveway then walk over to get beer.”
It just seems a waste of energy. But that’s just me. I reach the street and, as he opens his automobile door, I begin to pass him. He catches my eye holding up what, from my well trained eye, isn’t his first six-pack of the day, shakes the package and says,
“We’re both on the same mission. I’m just lazier about it.”
I laugh as he shuts his automobile door and moves to his household door. I walk slowly to make sure the door closes tightly.
“Doors, man.” I say to myself as I continue my trudge up the hill. “Doors are the root of all that goes wrong in the world.”