The Guillotine Lies In Wait For Val

A former colleague used to take a different route to work every day. Well. Not exactly different every day, because there are a finite number of routes available to get around in the greater Backroads area. Still, he would vary his path, randomly taking different exits and roads. He said you never know when someone might be out to get you. He had a manner of speaking and dressing like a wiseguy. Just sayin'...

 

Anyhoo, though we teased him about being paranoid, perhaps there was some wisdom in his madness.

 

I have a certain day of the week when I do my errands. I go to the same places. Not always in the same order, but I am a creature of habit. At the bank, I prefer a certain drive-thru lane. It's the right height for T-Hoe's window. It doesn't have the fat concrete bumper thingy that makes me struggle to lean over and reach the canister. AND it is not fully under the roof, so my SiriusXM radio still plays while I'm waiting.

 

Well. Perhaps this creature is TOO habited. 

 

 

My favorite drive-thru lane was open. Not a car in sight, except in my least favorite of the three lanes. I pulled up and parked just right. Turned off the ignition so as to save that pricey gas. Put down T-Hoe's window, and reached in for the canister. Easy peasy. Just like normal. Until...

 

THE DOOR CLOSED ON MY HAND!!!

 

That door comes up from the bottom. If the drive-thru bay is not used for a while, that tinted little door closes. Then you push the SEND button, and it lowers itself. They even have a printed sign taped there. "Please Press SEND To Open The Canister Door." I know that. I've done it before. But on this day, that door was open. Just like when you pull up right after another car. 

 

What in the NOT-HEAVEN possessed that reverse guillotine? My hand was inside, gripping the top third of the canister, making sure I had a good hold so I didn't drop it while dragging it out. I sure don't want to maneuver T-Hoe to climb out and fish a rolly canister from underneath his belly.

 

As I was pulling the canister toward me, THAT DOOR STARTED RISING! And RISING! It hit the bottom of my hand, and DID NOT STOP! Even a car window will stop when it hits something, and reverse its direction. So will a garage door. But not the EVIL, EVIL FIENDISH DOOR OF THE DRIVE-THRU CANISTER SHOOTER!

 

My hand was perpendicular to the reverse guillotine. It hit the fleshy part of my hand under the pinky finger. It kept rising!!! I was trying to pull my hand out, starting to panic. In the drive-thru lane, nobody can hear you scream! Unless you first push the CALL button. I was seatbelted in, and have too much boobage to contort myself enough to use my right hand to push the call button. I don't think the teller inside can control that guillotine anyway.

 

I felt like a bear caught in a trap! I pulled and pulled, and finally scraped my hand through the every-narrowing opening. SHEESH! That was scary! My hand was throbbing, with a red patch that burned. The skin wasn't broken,  but it hurt like an Indi a burn you used to give somebody by twisting their flesh in two different directions. 

Of course I still had business to do. So I reached my throbbing hand out and pushed the SEND button. The door opened, and I quickly snatched the canister out. I was wary. Like that delivery guy on the commercial combatting the karate door. The teller spoke after I sent in my withdrawal slip.

"How are you today?"

"Fine. But this door almost cut my hand off! It closed on me while I was getting the canister. It's never done that before!"

"Oh, my."

I expected a bit more sympathy. But it wasn't the teller's fault. Unless she has a secret controller and was waiting to chop my hand off. Which is a bit far-fetched. Even for a conspiracy theorist such as Val.

Oh, there's a warning on that EVIL, EVIL DOOR:

 

Not that it helps any. Just knowing that "DOOR MAY CLOSE AUTOMATICALLY" does nothing to prepare you for having your hand chopped off. But I suppose it protects the bank from lawsuits by newly one-armed people.

The Universe conspires against me.