The Problem With Doors

I have very few real fears in life. These fears are:

1) Tripping and then dying from the fall
2) People who wear bikinis when they really shouldn't

3) Intestinal parasites

4) Doors

Out of all of the things on this list, I believe that it is obvious which one scares me the most. Indeed, doors scare the heck out of me. It might be strange to devote an entire blog post to doors, but what's even stranger is that I have enough writing material to fuel a post about doors.

Now, why do I fear doors? The answer is simple. It's because I can't open them.

I try to push open a door, and it turns out I was supposed to pull it. I pull on a door, and I was supposed to push it. I turn the knob to the left when I should have turned it to the right. I blast it down with a bazooka when it turns out I should have used a lazer cannon.

You see, I can't get a door open when it counts. So I make a fool of myself in public every day because I can't open an acursed door! A door, people. In fact, I can think of no scarier situation than having Brad Pitt walk up to me, his arms full with boxes of expired fortune cookies, and ask me to hold "that door over there" open for him so he can enter the next room.

I get goose bumps just thinking about it.

There is no logical or scientific explanation for my EPI (Extreme Portal Incompetence). I think it might be because I'm the first child of my family. Since I always had things provided for me, I am unable to perform some of the most basic of tasks. I'm terrible at cleaning, cooking (I'll have to write a post about the "popcorn" incident) and just being practical.

Of course, doors are one problem. If you combine doors with a lock and key, things spiral into complete and utterly inevetable chaos.

My inabilty to stick a key in a lock and cause the door to open is so unusual that I'm even ashamed to admit it here. I am seventeen years old and I can't do this simple task. Why couldn't we have just switched to those swipe key cards by now? That would make it easier for a poor, poor child with FCS (First Child Syndrome).
So, I suppose you guys need an example or something. Okay, that works for me.

An Example or Something

When I went to Europe as a student ambassador, I had the lovely opportunity to spend the night in the dorms of a Welsh college. We got whole dorm rooms to ourselves, and I was so excited because I haven't gotten a room to myself in two weeks. You see, I have COWATS (Can't Opperate Without Alone Time Syndrome) so alone time would be good for me.

So I'm bouncing up and down while we wait for our dorm number. My delegation leader walks up to me, her gaze focused on a clipboard. She checks my name off of a list.

"Okay, Esther, your room is number 202. Here is your key."

She handed me a key.

What I was thinking when she handed me that key cannot be rewritten here, but it rhymed with "purple orange is hip happenin' over there".

So I got up to my room. I saw the door. I saw the lock. I swallowed. Slowly, I inserted the key inside the lock and twisted the key to the right.

Nothing happened.

So a delegate walks up to me and asked if I needed help, to which I responded casually,

"Sure, maybe, if you feel like it."

Together we managed to defeat the Evil Door. It was a true victory for man kind, I dare say.

Another Example, Possibly Maybe
This incident happened the other day, and it was what inspired me to do this post. I am going to take some college classes at Ivy Tech, but I had to take the COMPASS test first. It's this easy test that sees if you are qualified for college level courses.

I went to Ivy Tech's testing center, where a nice receptionist greeted me. After I signed up, she slid me a small, metalic object that looked suspiciously like a key.

"This is the key to locker number five. Please place your personal belongings in the locker now."

WHAT!

"Good bye, honey," my mom wished me as she left the room. I almost reached my arm after her, wishing she could discreetly open my locker for me, or at least give me advice. But she didn't. And I was distraught.

The locker was locked with a padlock. I put the key in the padlock. I twisted the key.

NOOOOOOOOO --

The lock twisted open.

That's nice.

But unfortunately for me, I had to take the padlock off of the locker in order to open it. This proved impossible, and before long I was battering myself against the locker with unparralleled force.

"Is something wrong?" the receptionist asked.

I hung my head in shame and pointed towards my locker.

"Could you open it for me, please?" I asked.

So yes, that was incredibly embarrasing.

On the bright side, I scored very well on my test. College courses here I come!
But now I am questioning my actual intelligence.


Don't write a blog post only to have the last half deleted so you have to write it again,

Esther