Tuesday, March 24, 2009


My office door has become the bane of my very existence. Despite having had the building manager and repair crew up twice to fix it, and a Catholic priest to exorcise any resident demons, the door will simply NOT stay open. This makes it difficult for me to leave my door open and appear "available" and "social," which is kind of important when you work in such a people-oriented field.

Maybe my door has picked up on the fact that I always feel slightly embarrassed that I know pretty much every detail of how the secretary-who-occasionally-sits-at-the-cubicle-in-front-of-my-office's mother is dying. Or kind of annoyed by it, because, yeah, your mother's dying, but do you have to yammer about it so loudly on the phone while I'm working on this brief?

Of course, the self-closing door does have the bonus of discouraging social "hoverers" when I am in the middle of an important project. Or surfing through youtube to find cool stuff to post on my facebook account. I need my concentration, people.

The eeriest part about the self-closing door is its penchant to slam shut on any partner like a Venus flytrap. This has not gone unnoticed. I am secretly paranoid that the partners who have experienced this phenomenon have grouped together to discuss whether I have telekinetic powers, and if so, how this will affect the firm's healthcare plan.

One partner actually has taken the pro-active step of calling the building people for me, to use his weight for urgent door repairs. It was appreciated, even if it did remind me of the fact I am but a minnow on the legal food chain.

My bosses all have different ways of dealing with the Little Shop of Horrors door. One partner just gently taps it back into position with one hand while drinking a coke with another. Another leans against it Sears catalogue style. One of the others has actually figured out that if he comes in my office, the door problem can be avoided altogether, but I feel sorry for him because then he has to look at my dying plant and smell the remnants of my at-desk lunch. Did I mention that my office is not really aesthetically pleasing because I have never bothered to decorate it? Considering its position at the entryway onto our floor, perhaps my door is closing out of a sense of courtesy to passerby.

The worst was this partner who actually started hitting and kicking it while telling me a story. Then it would rebound and it was hard to pay attention to what he was saying because I kept anticipating it hitting him violently on the head and him crumpling to the floor, a bloody mess with a violent concussion while I had the inappropriate reaction to laugh hysterically while giving him first aid, because it WOULD be kind of funny. Laywer downed by malicious door.

At least we'd know who to sue.

You'd better watch it, door.


Prosy said...

maybe your office is built over some sort of fault line or time/space portal which is messing with the gravity. One day you're going to walk through that door and end up in the 1200's.

Anna Russell said...

Sue it. It asked for it.