Maybe I'll Try the Windows

I have recently developed a fear of doorknobs. That might sound strange coming from someone who is generally a big fan of doors, but I've got good reasons.

Here at the office I've learned to approach every doorknob with paranoia and fear. For some reason the entire building seems to have it out for me. I have recently been virtually unable to touch a door without feeling the sharp sting of a tiny bluish white electrical shock. I imagine that my co-workers think it is strange that I jump back from a door every time I touch it. I think that it might have something to do with my shoes or the way I walk. I thought that maybe I had started dragging my feet when I walk, so I try to take high steps and really get my knees up when I walk through the office. I haven't really noticed a difference, except in the way that my co-workers look at me.

But the most intriguing thing is that I seem to get shocked by the doors more than anyone else in the building. And it's not just door knobs. Door frames practically reach our from the wall to shock my shoulders as I walk by them. On days when it's really bad, I dread just about everything, from going to the bathroom to making copies.

"Ephraim, can you make a copy of this, please?"
"Sure Celeste! Let me just take off my shoes and socks and high-step on over to the copy machine."

In the twenty five steps or so that it takes me to get from my desk to the copy machine I manage to build up enough friction to get a shock from the glass copying surface. So now I try to move as little as possible. I get out of my chair if it is absolutely necessary. I avoid walking when I can, but if I can't, I have to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable pain that walking causes me here. I practice my door knob quick-draw method, which is supposed to somehow give me the upper hand on the shocks. Instead of passively getting shocked, when I have to go through a door, I pause for just a moment to prepare, and then I grab the door knob as fast as I can! The logic to this might seem a bit flawed, or perhaps non-existant. I suppose it is sort of like jumping into cold water instead of inching your way in - I've always been a jumper-in-er.

My office building has conditioned me so well that now I hesitate to open doors in my own apartment, despite that fact that we have hardwood floors - which I've been becoming more and more thankful for.

I suppose the point is that George Orwell was right when he remarked that "Circus dogs jump when the trainer cracks his whip, but the really well-trained dog is the one that turns his somersault when there is no whip."

I suppose the bright side is that at home, at least, I'm not getting whipped...