Doors

Doors have been the bane of my existence recently. For many people, doors symbolize beginnings. Opening a door symbolizes entering a magical world or discovering new opportunities. For me, doors can become an obtrusive nuisance.

Picture this: you’re running late for an event. You zoom into the building, only to be confronted by a thick, heavy door that you need to pull towards you to open. For a while, my response to this scenario was either to wait in the cold, precipitous weather until a benevolent stranger noticed my drenched and shivering self, or to bang my fists on the door repeatedly until someone finally noticed that there was a human out there that needed help. Neither of these experiences was enjoyable. When I’m out with my crutches, I can open a door wide enough to slide my crutch in and use it as a doorstop. However, this only works when nobody else is around. The minute someone notices me and pulls the door towards them, I turn into the human version of a collapsing Jenga pile.

You might ask: What about the accessible doors with the buttons? Functional and accessible doors are certainly an upgrade from the regular 18th-century door with an invisible pile of bricks behind it, which are all the rage where I live. However, they can also be pesky, especially when using my scooter. One day, I encountered a particular building with large double doors, and the accessible button was located opposite to the door that actually opened. For 10 minutes, I pressed the button, wheeled my scooter to the open door, and watched it close on me just as I was about to go through the door. Thankfully, someone opened the door on the side that I was closest to. Frankly, opening a door shouldn’t feel like playing a game of whack-a-mole where you are the mole.