German Living

When One Door Closes, It Stays Closed

Today I moved into my new apartment. It’s a little three-bedroom place in Charlottenburg that I’ll be subletting until early October. And it’s in an old building. Like I think it might have been built in the 1800s. I’m sure the doors were at least.

My mom and I spent a nice morning and early afternoon eating lunch outside and walking around the Holocaust Memorial, and then we went to get everything finalized with the gal who’s subletting her room to me, and to move my stuff in. I also got to meet my two new roommates, Jannik and Stephanie. Then my mom and I decided to take naps in my room for a little while. I closed the door to keep out the sound of my inevitable sleep talking, then snoozed away for about two hours.

Once we were all rested, ready, and rearin’ to go, we began our sojourn out of the apartment. Our first task was to get out of the bedroom. And this task was much more challenging than you might imagine.

I started out playing nice with the door and turning the door knob like a civilized human being. That didn’t work. Then my mom tried her hand at civilized-door niceties. No success. So then I started to get just the slightest bit more aggressive to show the door that I wasn’t messing around here. It said thanks, but no thanks. By this time I was feeling a mild case of claustrophobia coming on, so I jiggled and pulled on the knob frantically and whispered sweet nothings to it. It remained unmoved by my passionate frenzy.

Finally I realized I was going to have to get some outside help from outside the door. So I said in my say-it-again-I-didn’t-hear-you-the-first-time volume voice, “Jannik? Stephanie? Hello?” I was pretty sure Stephanie was out with her boyfriend, but I heard some rustling and possibly a voice next-door and thought that finally help was on the way. Meanwhile, I decided that a great back-up plan was for us to crawl out the bedroom window like escaping prisoners, so my mom started fiddling with the window locks in hopes of opening one of them. But alas, this plan failed too.

I was getting desperate, so I used my best y’all-hush-and-let’s-start-class-now-kids volume voice and called out, “JANNIK?!?!” and rapped on the door for good measure. That did the trick; he came right out and rescued us just as easy as you please.

I’d love to say that we figured out how to open the door after that experience, but lessons aren’t always learned the first time around. As soon as we got home from dinner a few hours later, we decided to test the door, with my mom in the room and me outside. The exact same thing happened again, only I was outside the door of doom and my mom was trapped behind it. This time I actually did climb through the window, and this time Jannik saved the day again when my window-climbing efforts ended in door-opening failure. To ensure future door-opening success, Jannik gave us a demonstration of how to open the door: apparently you have to push down forcefully on the cursed doorknob, not pull up.

God bless America.

"Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for an American to go through a German door." Second Opinions 19:24

“Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for an American to go through a German door.” Second Opinions 19:24


4 thoughts on “When One Door Closes, It Stays Closed

  1. Pingback: Shoe Spoon Sorcery | The Frogmartian Chronicles

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  3. Pingback: Germany and America and the World Cup | The Frogmartian Chronicles

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