Three Ton Coworker - But That's Another Kind of Safety Maybe
"These days I try to tell myself that what I feel is not very important." —Lydia Davis, "What I Feel"
In order to close the door properly, you have to lift up on the handle, and slide the upper outside corner of the door past part of the frame so that the latch will click. Doing so makes the scraping noise of wood on wood or painted wood on painted wood, the same sort of noise skin might make against a balloon. If you are inside the room, you have to push the door closed. If you are outside the room, you have to pull the door closed. There is something wrong with the handle on the outside, and it has come off in my hand more than once. But the door does close, and the latch latches, and there is no reason to believe that one is not safe on either side of it really, unless one is allergic to mold, but that's another kind of safety maybe. The door is made of solid wood. It is painted white. I do not know how many times it has been painted. The paint is chipped in places, and the door is still uniformly white, so it's been painted white a number of times. We use the phrase "a number of times" to mean multiple times, but one is also a number. The smell on the other side of the door varies, but it's never bad. The mold smell isn't bad either exactly, but no one would probably ever call it good. The door's handle is also white, but plastic, not wood. Part of me would like to describe the noise of the closing door as a squeak, but it's lower-pitched than that, and another possibly better word isn't coming to me at the moment. The thesaurus is of no help. It is an uncomfortable noise, a noise of unease, a noise that reminds one of the fact that not only does Nature not produce any right angles, She also doesn't really want us to either. You build a frame and hang a door, just like a picture. This picture is ill-fitting, and cannot easily be straightened. I do not know what this picture shows. It shows three things: one when closed, two when open.