Thursday, May 26, 2022

Doorman #2 Says "Psych!"

Just when Val thinks someone is throwing her a bone, that bone gets yanked away and slammed over her head. Or shoulder.
Sunday, I was on my way into Orb K. I'd parked to the right side of the doors, in my favorite space next to the handicap walkway. A man came from the gas pumps and passed me up. No big deal. I'm slow. As he neared the double doors, a young man came from the opposite side, and pulled open the glass door on the left, holding it for Gas Man.
As I got closer, Door Holder stood still, motioning for me to enter. He was a skinny dude, wearing a black gaiter mask patterned with a skull. Such a gentleman, though.  

I thanked him as I crossed the sidewalk to enter the left door.


The glass door on the right slammed into my right shoulder! Not so much the glass itself as the metal trim on the door. Thankfully, I had touched my left hand to the held-open door on the left, and was able to stay upright. 

The Slamminator was a chubby fellow with a red beard. Not a pointy meth beard, but a bushy mountain man beard. I had seen him standing inside that door, by his fat wife/sister/daughter as I crossed. No knock to them. All three were smaller than Val. My point is that I could obviously see THEM through the glass door, so surely they could see ME.

I was already 3-4 steps inside the establishment, rubbing my shoulder, when I heard a mealy-mouthed "Sorry." Which must have come from The Slamminator, who had left the store as I staggered in, going out ahead of his womenfolk.
I did not turn around to dignify that p-poor apology with an acceptance. I'm guessing that one of the chubby women had told The Slamminator that he need to say something.

I went on to get in the maze-line through the candy hook pegboards, rubbing my shoulder, saying to nobody in particular, "That kind of hurt." I figured I'd probably get a bruise on the soft inside edge of my shoulder.

While in line, I glanced outside and saw the quartet standing beside T-Hoe! In the blue-striped handicap walkway. I don't know what they were discussing, but HERE CAME THE SLAMMINATOR BACK INTO THE STORE! Not only that, but he didn't pick up any merchandise. He got in line behind me!

For WHAT? I'd like to think those gals shamed him into coming back to make a formal apology. That's just wishful thinking. The Slamminator said nothing. Of course I rubbed my shoulder sarcastically, if that's possible! Overacting. Because I could.

I didn't see what The Slamminator paid for. Maybe a scratcher? Maybe a lighter? I just know that he came out the door behind me. Sadly, I did not think to stand in wait and slam it into his shoulder. He was off the curb and past me before I reached T-Hoe.

What the ACTUAL EFF is wrong with people???

Since I could see HIM through the glass door, I'm sure he could see ME. It's GLASS, by cracky! Made to be transparent. 

And to think my original take on this situation was to be SHOCKED at the niceness of the skull-masked door-holder...


  1. The law of human physics. "For every nice scull-masked door holder there is an equal and opposite shit-head!"

    1. So true! I encountered two other sh!theads this week, and two other unmasked helpmates. Can't have one without the other!

  2. Oooh! Ouch! How is your shoulder? Will you still be able to scratch off your tickets?

    1. So disappointing! There was hardly any discoloration! But it DID hurt while scratching my scratchers. Better now. Only hurts when I push on it.

  3. Replies
    1. Somebody needs to bottle a can of repellent to spray them away!