The Glass Door (part II)
As I wrote about previously, I am a paradox: historically a decent athlete as well as a fairly frequent klutz. To my credit, it is rare that the two exist within the same realm, thus allowing me to (mostly) not injure myself too harshly in the throws of sporty goodness.
Though not a week had passed since I had run into Chase’s glass door, I considered myself recovered. Both internally as well as from the intense amusement my coworkers had been able to glean from the situation (after making sure I didn’t have a concussion). Jason and I decided to head outside for one of our epic bro-time breaks. Since I am partly fish, I perpetually have something to drink with me at all times. A water bottle in my bag, a can of soda in my hand, or, that particular day, a cup of office coffee - with no lid. You see where this is going, don’t you?
We walked around the corner to our favorite stoop: an office building occupied by very crabby people who were very selfish about sharing their stoop, even if they weren’t actively using it. After we had been out of the office far too long for a “short break”, we headed back to our own building - a large 30-some story high rise in the middle of Midtown Manhattan. Being from the west (and best?) coast, it had taken me a long time to truly grasp the usefulness of revolving doors. Once I understood that they were mostly useful for keeping the heat inside the building, while keeping the blistering cold outside, I realized why I had so very rarely ever encountered them. In Southern California, there is no need to keep the cold weather outside. To us, 65 degrees Fahrenheit is the appropriate temperature to “bundle up.”
Jason went to military school and is quite the gentleman, so he always allows me to enter a building, room, or store first. I stepped into my compartment of the revolving door and turned my head to see if Jason had made it into the next. As I turned my head back towards the front, I noticed it was my time to exit and stepped out into the lobby. The end.
You know that’s not what actually happened. That is what happens with normal, fully functional, non-klutzy adults - and also what trespasses in my happiest dreams where I conclude a day without incident or injury. Reality (and my extremely magnetic relationship with silly accidents) dictated a very different sequence of events. What I had actually seen when I saw my opening was the glass door in which the revolver was contained. And when I stepped into the “lobby” I had actually taken two steps very confidently straight into that very solid glass. My knuckles slammed into the glass as my coffee leaped out of its uncovered container and happily danced down the previously spotless glass.
I stepped out of my compartment - this time, in actuality - and turned to see Jason doubled over, nearly in tears. I looked towards the security desk to see that the head security guard - a cranky, stuffy, older gentleman - was the only one unoccupied. Only when he gave me a funny look when I asked him for a napkin did I realize he hadn’t seen had happened. In response to my explanation of why I needed the napkin, he disappeared under the desk and popped up like Mr. Clean with a rag in one hand and a glass cleaner in the other. After Jason and the younger security guard finished round one of teasing me mercilessly we headed back upstairs. After my knuckle bruises finally healed, the only reminder of my klutziness remained in the revolving door I had to use 8 times a day and the perked eyebrow of Mr. Clean whenever I used the door with a cup of coffee in my hand. Yah… That happened.