Walking Through Doors

          I walked into a half open door yesterday.  Today I have a black eye and a slightly bruised cheek to show for it, not to mention all the other stuff that goes with being so clumsy.

          My encounter with the door was entirely my own fault.  Walking into the grocery store…one of those where the door opens automatically…I was concentrating on the shopping list in my hand and didn’t notice the door had stopped opening…wham, bam!  I saw thousands of very pretty little stars and while the grocery store clerks who were privy to my collision rushed around enquiring whether I needed medical attention, all I wanted to do was quietly die of embarrassment.

          I could just imagine how I was going to explain my lack of coordination to my friends.

          ‘Howdja get the black eye?’

          ‘Walked into a door.’

          ‘Yeah?  Why?’

          ‘Ummmm.’

          But it did remind me of another incident that took place between me and a door some years ago.

          I had rushed home from my job to be able to do a quick change of clothes and generally tizzy myself up for a date with a promising new chap.  We had arranged to meet at a little restaurant not far from my house.

          At the time, I lived in a small apartment building:  six units on three floors.   The entrance to the building had a miniscule lobby with stairs up to each floor.  Directly in front of the stairs was a glass door.  The glass in the door had been vandalized months before and had never been replaced.  What remained were the wood frame and the door knob.  Actually, to the residents, the lack of glass was quite a handy feature.  No one had to struggle with packages while trying to turn the knob.  Entry was a simple matter of stepping through the frame.

          So, on this lovely summer’s day, I stepped through the glassless frame of the lobby door and ran upstairs to my apartment.

          How long does it take to brush your teeth, run a comb through your hair and retouch your makeup?  Ten minutes?  Fifteen?  Apparently it is long enough to replace glass in a door.

          Ready to make a stunning impression on my prospective new beau, I ran down the stairs and straight through the newly installed glass in the lobby door!  It is only because the putty holding the glass in place had not had time to harden that my injuries were not more serious.  My head and right knee hit the glass in beautiful unison.  Then, as I reeled back in shock, the whole thing became a slow motion movie.

          The glass broke at the point of head contact and turned into a guillotine.  The top section scraped past my nose taking a chunk off the tip and continued down to my knee, putting a gash in that, while the bottom section bounced off my big toe.  And the blood flowed.  Down my face, onto my dress and over my best pair of sandals.

          Needless to say I missed meeting my date.  Instead, I was taken care of at the Emergency Room and, hours later, allowed to go home.

          What upset me more than the actual accident was the result of my hospital visit.  After checking me over for more serious injuries, the Doctor discharged me with a pink band-aid over my nose, another across my kneecap and a third wrapped around my toe.

          Now I ask you.  How could I convince anyone that I had been badly hurt in an altercation with a glass door when all I had to show for it were three band-aids!  In which case, perhaps the black eye I got yesterday is a better result.  At least that can garner a bit of sympathy.  Well, can’t it?