Grinding Doors

First let me say mine is a small, humble dwelling, though of infinite variety.  If I further divulge that one source of variety is the incidence of different door designs I may provide a clue concerning my week’s activities, and possibly be drawn into admitting to one of the challenges of advancing age.

Doors various – below stairs (that’s the ground floor, of course, but I like to imagine I have servants and that’s where they live) the internal doors are all of glass panels, the frames of which, though naturally finished, fail to meet any standard of uniformity, although I have endeavoured to standardise the handles (in brass, I fitted the last one just in time to be told that brass had become ‘so last year’).   Upstairs, and yes, I promise I will use the proper term ‘door furniture’ from now on, there are four internal doors in four patterns, none of which are glass, and none of which bears even a passing resemblance to its siblings.  Siblings???.

Gripping, so far, isn’t it?

Irreproachably, the Memsahib gave notice that conformity needed to be established, so I ordered three doors of identical design to the last one I fitted.  On Saturday, after keeping vigil before my tools through the night, I set about preparing Door One, which incidentally is the door to my ‘airy nest’.   The Vale of Despond yawned open before me, but undeterred I removed the old door, used it as a pattern, and trimmed its replacement neatly to size.  Then I cut recesses for the hinges into the new door…

Yes, I cut them on the wrong side.  I swear I studied all the possibilities for an hour before I made the first incision, turned the patient – sorry, the door – over and over in my mind, but I still got it wrong, and I still don’t know why!

It’s a spatial awareness thing, I know that; the condition of being unable to reverse images and angles in the brain – but I never used to suffer from it:  where did it come from?  Oh, and the door doesn’t fit, in spite of all my careful trimming, but that is down to latch revenge, and a separate issue.

So, in summation:  there are those who will persuade you that old age has not affected their abilities, or impaired their mental function.  Maybe they are lucky, or maybe they are delivering a brace of testicles, but I do not count myself among their number.  I can measure my deterioration in units of door.  A task I could achieve comfortably in a couple of hours not many years ago now detains me for one-and-a-half days (two if you count the afternoon I spent sitting here with an ice-pack on my head, muttering incoherently).  The thought that two more doors await me before I can claim to have performed my mission fills me with dread.  I may need counselling.

 

 

 

 

An observation resulting from time spent in a waiting room

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Here’s a money-saving suggestion for all those businesses spending fortunes on competency tests as part of the employee selection process.   Modify the door to the room where interviews are conducted – make it a plain door:  with a handle.

There are five ways to open a door – handle down (common)

                                                             Handle up      (perverse)

                                                             Handle unnecessary  (no latch).

                                                             Push the door open

                                                             Pull the door open.

After the ‘We’ll let you know’ line, simply observe your candidate’s proficiency in opening the door as they leave.   Only shortlist those capable of getting through it first time.   

For candidates seeking senior positions add a sixth dimension – a sliding door.