Entry 19: About doors . . .


Even the most casual consumer of this blog—if, in fact, such creatures exist, and the current evidence is not encouraging—even a purely hypothetical consumer of this blog is aware of the deep antipathy we have for doors. Our complaints concerning our hands’ inexplicable failure to properly monitor and operate the doors of our abode are scattered throughout this blog’s previous entries. Look, we understand why our houses require doors and why those doors must remain closed most of the time. And we recognize why hands have designed the doors mostly for use by hands, even if that means that they are almost impossible for humans to also use. (The reason? Hands are self-centered idiots.) What we don’t comprehend is why, after having made that crucial blunder, why those guilty hands do not take appropriate steps to mitigate the error they have perpetrated. Meaning, primarily, being available at all times to open those doors whenever a human requires them to be opened. The doors belong to us, the humans who abide behind them, and as such, we expect them to be operational any time and all the time. If you hands had even a modicum of common sense, you would have recognized this from the outset. But no, too often, humans are left on the outside looking in, or inside looking out, with no immediate remedy in sight, because their hands have abandoned their posts and abdicated all responsibility for proper door operation.

Our hands complains that our demands concerning doors are often unreasonable. “You want out, and then you immediately want back in, then out, then in, out, in, out, in, nine or ten times in three minutes. You can’t make up your mind and make a decision.” Our hands . . . what can we say? Such a clueless buffoon. Claiming that humans are indecisive and can’t make up their minds is so completely backward that we’re having difficulty deciding whether our hands really believes such twaddle or is simply trolling us to divert attention from his abominable door management. Even his supposed “evidence” contradicts him. Far from being indecisive, we’re decision-makers par excellence: ten rapid-fire decisions made, one right after another, no hesitation, no second-guessing. In truth, humans are decision decatheletes, making dozens of decisions without breaking a sweat, while our beleaguered hands stand by flummoxed by the range and depth of our decision-making. Besides, our hands exaggerates (as usual): there has never been an opportunity for “ten times in three minutes” because our hands does not have the stamina for such intensive decision-making. At most, he’s provided door service for maybe three or four decisions and then he gives up and walks away.

Our hands objects to this characterization and tries to justify his lapses by reminding us that, on occasion, we have managed to open the large, sliding glass door that serves as our primary means of egress to the world outside our house. According to our hands, this invalidates our claim that doors are “impossible for humans to use.” Our hands is so cute when he tries to argue with us. First, we clearly said, “almost impossible.” Yes, there are a few doors that humans can operate (this does not include so-called “pet doors” which pose other problems we’re not inclined to pursue at the moment). And yes, we have been able to open the large glass door (which takes some effort: that door is quite heavy), but only after it becomes clear—after a lengthy, incredibly frustrating extended period of prolonged waiting—that our hands has once again forgotten his door duties. And we would like to remind our hands that our facility with the large glass door was only able to manifest itself after our hands figured out that locking the door after every use truly makes a door impossible for a human to use. Still, we believe our ability to occasionally handle a door is completely beside the point. Yes, we can negotiate doors by ourselves, but, again, we should not have to. Ever.

Upon encountering this last declaration, hands will think (or rather say, since hands rarely think when they can talk first): “Wait a minute, you’re serious? You really think it is our job to always be available for door duty? Regardless? That even after we open the door to let you outside, we need to stay by the door in case you want to come in? Even if you take off on some long exploration, we’re just supposed to stay near the door until you decide to return?”

To such plaintive queries there can only be one response:

Well, yes. Obviously. You are our furniture, our tools, our hands. Accept that, and behave accordingly.