When sliding doors attack
7th March, 2007
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As I lay flattened beneath the glass, nose pressed sideways, it occurred to me that the sensation was a little like being in an extremely crowded lift. "Help," I squeaked, but no one came. "My wife will be home soon and she'll give me a helping hand," I thought, failing to convince myself that this would ever happen.
I was reminded of a friend who told me how he had thought his last hour had come when he slipped while carrying an extremely large, weighty bag of salt for his swimming pool. He landed in the pool, pinned to the bottom by the bag which had landed on his chest. He finally spluttered to the surface but it was a close call. I had been about to succumb to the embrace of a sultry Brisbane afternoon when I had been attacked, for there is no greater joy than to slide back the doors to the balcony and enjoy the sublime, tropical caress of the evening. These doors are made of glass and aluminium and being quite large require the application of some force to send them gliding along their tracks. I pushed them open last week as I prepared to settle down outside with a cool drink when I heard a sudden crack. "That was a strange sound," I thought, and looked up to see that the entire door had jumped off its tracks and was swaying in the non-existent breeze. "Oh God," I groaned as I saw disaster on a grand scale beginning to envelop me, visions of a massive glass door shattering into several million pieces filling my mind. I froze for a moment, wondering whether I should run for my life and hope I wouldn't be scythed down by a flying shard, or step forward and try to catch it before it fell. Uncharacteristically, I opted to stay and, reaching out with both hands, pushed against the door. Not only was it large, it was heavy, too. For a moment, it balanced upright but then began to fall inexorably towards me. Caught between the outdoor table and the falling glass, I pushed against the door but it was hopeless. Slowly it began to bear down on me, forcing me back against the table and pinning me beneath it. It was at about this time that it dawned on me it was not going to be a great night. There I remained, half standing, half kneeling and bent backwards, for several minutes, bleating for help, while I tried to slide beneath the table and escape. I think it was my terror that saved me, drenching me in so much sweat that eventually I was able to slither from beneath the glass and crawl out from under the table on all fours. It was an unsettling experience and I was still shaken by it when I left for work the next morning, glancing at the clock and remembering that I could not be late as I was picking up my wife from work and going to the hospital for a routine pregnancy check-up. This is our first child and if I caused her to be late she'd sell me on eBay, so I pulled the front door shut behind me and headed down the corridor towards the lift, aware that something was not quite right. I tried to press the lift call button but couldn't because my right hand was still holding my door handle. It took a few seconds for this incongruity to sink in - the door was ten metres distant but I was still holding the handle. I ran back to the door and surveyed the hole where the handle should have been and the assorted springs and screws that were lying on the floor. Reattaching door handles is not one of my handier skills so I banged my head against the wall several times, swore forcefully, rang the apartment block manager and cried until he agreed to come and fix it. We made it to the hospital - the pregnancy is progressing nicely - but my joy at our baby's good health was dulled the next day when I was attacked by a set of automated car park gates. I was driving out when they closed on me, trapping the front of my car in their steel grip and biting pieces out of the paint as they did. I don't know how this happened. It just did. All in all, it was a very trying week. |
