Oh dear door, what did I ever do to you?

Dear Dorm Room Door, 

Why did you wound me so? You, who protected me from the outside, who shielded me from noisy suitemates and unwelcome guests. You, who I shut every night and opened every morning without fail. We were buddies, you and I. And yet! Betrayed by one who I called a friend. I have no choice but to declare my hatred. 

‘Twas late one Saturday night, and I was just settling into bed, when I realized, horror of horrors, my water bottle was empty! So I did what any rational human does and rose to fill it up. I stepped out of bed, slipped on my slippers, and reached the most vital step: reaching for and twisting the door handle. I twisted, and I pulled, and then I yanked. The door stayed closed. I attempted to throw my entire body weight into tugging on the door handle, but the door did not move an inch. Not. A. Single. Inch. I am indeed baffled. I reached for the lock, thinking that in a moment of idiocy, I had forgotten to unlock the door before trying to leave. Lo and behold, the lock fell out! Resting in my hand laid the remains of what was once my trusty lock, protector, and brother-in-arms. Now, a traitor! In my time of need, I called upon a knight in shining armor, one of my suitemates. She attempted to slam the door open on her side to no avail. I slid my key under the door, but it did absolutely nothing. Ugh! Door, what are you doing? At the end of my list of options, I call facilities. Door, I hate you for causing the conversation that follows: 

Facilities: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Me: “Hi, I’m currently locked in my door room and cannot get out. Can you please send someone to get the door open?”

F: “You’re locked in your room? Don’t you mean out of your room?”

M: “No, I mean in. Can you please send someone?”

F: “Is it a dire emergency? Can you wait until morning?”

M: “No, I would like to be let out of my room tonight. What happens if I have to go to the bathroom? Wait, isn’t this a safety hazard?”

F: “Okay, we’ll send someone soon.”

After a long 30 minutes of waiting, and waiting, and calling again, facilities finally showed. The first thing I hear from my would-be rescuer from the door of doom is this: “This is not what I was told was going on.” It proceeded to take another 20 minutes before our facilities rescuer gave up and went downstairs to ask the security guard of the 600 building to help. Dear security guard, I may have to write you a thank you letter soon because you have become my true savior. With the magic touch of having protected Barnard students for so long, our dear 600 security guard flung open the door like my prince charming, except she was even better. Free! I was free! 

Unfortunately, my door had a bone to pick and was not done. Why, door, why? I hate you for this. 

‘Twas the night before the first day of the Spring semester, and I had just arrived back to the sanctuary of my dorm after an eight-hour flight that had two people aggressively making out next to me on it. My dorm, my bed, and sleep were waiting for me. Or so I thought. But dorm door got in the way. Once again, I twisted, and I pulled, and then I yanked. The door did not open. But oh, silly me, I locked my door after break! Yes, that must be the solution! I pulled out my trusty key, but alas, the door would not open. I twisted and wiggled the key as much as humanly possible, with no successful results. Why? Oh door, you could not have picked a worse time. Facilities may have claimed to have fixed your attitude over break, but they were wrong. It returned with a vengeance, the door bloodthirsty for vengeance. Why? Once again, I had to call facilities.

M: “Hi, you said you fixed my door over break, but it’s jammed again and I can’t get in. Can you please send someone to get the door open?”

F: “Well, maybe it’s because you were on break? Did you try unlocking it? Maybe give it a few hours.”

M: “NO! This was a problem before the break. You said you would fix it but it’s still broken. I just got off an eight-hour flight and want to go to sleep. Please send someone now. I literally cannot get into my room, the key doesn’t work.”

F: “Okay.”

A mere 20 minutes later (quicker than last time!) my savior arrived. Armed with a key ring of legends and a screwdriver, facilities had finally sent me the only person who could go up against my door and win. While my door fought valiantly to the very end, he was no match for facilities this time around (thank god). Facilities guy wielded his key ring like a shield and his screwdriver like a sword. Door versus facilities. They fought. They wrestled. 10 long minutes passed before facilities guy successfully pinned door down. Voila! The door was finally opened! What was sacrificed? The wood surrounding the handle was completely torn off, a war wound leaking splinters all over my carpet. Even in death, my door could not give me any peace. 

What did I lose in this battle? My dignity, my patience, and my friend, my door. Why was this injustice done to me? All I wanted was water, and what resulted was a legendary battle that consumed so much of my mental state. Door, do you know what it is like to live in a room that leaves you wondering if today is the day you’ll be stuck without any way out? That not even facilities or the security guard can get you out? To get a splinter if you walk barefoot on the carpet? To suffer humiliation at the hands of phone calls with facilities? To even hear facilities talking about you as they walk through the Barnard tunnels? No, you don’t. But I do. Oh door, I hope you rue the day you were carved from wood. 

Images via Author