My Daily Battle with Revolving Doors (This is Not a Metaphor)

Correct me if I’m wrong, but there are no revolving doors in Los Angeles. This fact is painfully obvious every time I encounter one in Chicago. I hesitate as I walk toward the door. I watch people as they go through and I try to figure out the timing and the speed at which I have to approach this death trap.

I recall my anxiety trying to jump in while playing jump-rope with friends in elementary school. The rope’s in motion and you just have to find the opening. Everyone would put both hands out and move them to the rhythm of the rope. These hand motions are conveniently also applicable to revolving doors. Though I did think about it, I do not make these hand motions because I am grown and trying to be cool, but I do imagine them just before making a break for the opening, walking through and jolting out so as to avoid losing a limb.

One day it’ll come more naturally. Right?

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Categories: Uncategorized | 6 Comments

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6 thoughts on “My Daily Battle with Revolving Doors (This is Not a Metaphor)

  1. Stefan

    You never worked in a tall building in L.A. Not saying all tall buildings have revolving doors, but the one I worked in did.

    • thejoblesswonder

      I knew if anyone would take me up on my offer to “correct me if I’m wrong”, it would be you. I think I actually included that in there with you in mind. 🙂

  2. Aunt Mary

    I love your correlation with jumping rope – it’s perfect! I actually find revolving doors a fun challenge to enter, but a horrifying challenge to keep up with the rotation while locked inside those 2 panes of glass. I will be in awe of you when you finally reach the point where you step into one of these without missing a step!

    • Mama

      I remember you as a very little girl quietly slipping your fingers into my hand at the top of the escalator. You watched in silence for several seconds for that perfect level stair to roll out in front of you. You concentrated- gently using your chin to make several repeated upward motions matching the appearance of every top escalator step. I would feel you gripping my hand tightly and pulling me while placing your foot upon the newly emerging step. You would finally look up at me, smile and begin to breathe normally again.

      • Aunt Mary

        I can see her little, curly-haired head moving up and down with the escalator stairs! Great story, Mama!

  3. Mama

    Great story about a great girl!

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