The Impossible Happened
When things don't go as planned, open doors can lead to strange places.
Yesterday was a strange day. More than strange, actually. Unbelieveable is a better word for what happened. I work at a bakery that is attatched to a small office building in the middle of the city. I got up at 4:30am for work, as usual, and drove downtown in the darkness of early morning. Everything looked the same as it normally does when I arrive, the windows were dark, the neon open sign was just a blotchy shadow on the door, but as soon as I walked up to the building and unlocked the door, I noticed that there was a handle sticking out of the concrete at my feet. I had never seen it there before, and since it was practically in the exact center of the walkway, it seemd likely that someone would have tripped on it and sued the bakery long before this time if it had. Naturally, I was bewildered by the sudden appearance of it, and so, thinking that I might grasp a better understanding of it if I saw what it led to, I grabbed the handle and pulled. Thinking back now, I wonder if I could have been any stupider. I mean, any average movie buff would know that the worst thing a person could possibly do is to go through an unknown, unmarked door. Adventures inevitably follow.
The slab of concrete swung up without much effort on my part, which is incredible considering my size against the size of the slab of concrete. Imagine a mouse trying to carry a small dog, and that is a pretty good picture of what I must have looked like opening that door. There was a stairway underneath the concrete, so I went down it and came to a dark hallway that smelled like cabbage for some reason. At the end of the hallway, I found a ladder leading up so I climbed the ladder and pushed open a trap-door at the top. I couldn't really believe my eyes, but I poked my head out and saw that the trapdoor was somehow under a table in my favorite coffee shop--seven miles away from my work! Here, again, I must have looked strange, crawling out from under the table, but I could only hope that no one noticed.
Well, at least I know where I am, I thought, but when I hurried out of the front door, I did not come out in the coffeehouse parking lot, as I should have. No. I had to fight through a rack of clothing to come out in the corner of the thrift shop where I often go to shop for good silver spoons (something I never have enough of...don't judge me). At least the thrift store was a little bit closer to my work than the coffeehouse. Maybe I could still get to the bakery before my boss got there. "Ma'am!" the clerk behind the front counter called as I turned to leave. "You haven't paid for those spoons." I looked down, and found that I did indeed have two spoons clutched in my hand...I suppose I must have picked them up out of force of habit. I sheepishly paid for them with a few dollars I had in my pocket, and then, thinking of ways I might thwart the growing trend, I went out of the side door instead of the front.
No use. When I came out of the other side, I was walking out into the loft of my parent's barn. "When is this going to stop?" I thought, kicking a chicken out of the way (I feel bad about that). "I have to be at work!" But no use. That day I visited the inside of my Grandfather's Jaguar, my little brother's playhouse, my best friend's office cubicle, the observation deck the city ferry, and then, at last I came out into the huge ventilation shaft that runs directly over my boss's desk. I could see him sitting right there below me. And this time, when I opened the grate, I came out right where I was supposed to: on the floor of my boss's office.
I got in trouble for being six hours late to work, for not having a good excuse (I said that I had overslept), for goofing around in the vents, and for leaving the front door unlocked. As I write this, I am sitting at home, eating some well-deserved ice cream. I can only hope that tomorrow, when I open up my front door to go to work again, I will only see the inside of my carport.
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