You know that ancient proverb?
‘life is like a revolving door, you go around and around, things can happen and you may even get out sometime’
Okay it’s not that ancient.
The first time I came to Toronto (nearly a decade ago) Jeremy took me to the Eaton Centre. He blithely strolled in front of me into the mall through the revolving door. I had a moment of hesitation as I took in the mode of entry before smoothly entering the building. At least that’s how I remember it. Jeremy maintains that I looked terrified and managed to grope my way into the mall with a clown-like flourish. I’m sure it was something in between the two recollections.
Anyway in my first year of working in Toronto I jumped the gun a little when entering the revolving door at my office building. I ended up crammed up behind some suit who looked rather bewildered and possibly afraid of me. I laughed rather awkwardly and felt my face flame. It was not my finest hour.
Over the years I’ve become a revolving door ninja. I can make split second decisions, exit and enter with arms laden with packages, I don’t hit my heels and I use the perfect amount of force to ensure a smooth ride for those ahead of and behind me.
So imagine my surprise when I had another embarrassing revolving door incident last week. This time it was me who was looking behind me at some punk kid who was red of face and stuttering his apologies. His friends waited for him (gasping for breath as they dissolved into hysterics) as I huffed and proclaimed “what on earth!”. He apologized and called me ma’am. The ma’am in conjunction with my old lady exclamation struck me as I was walking away with ruffled feathers. I could see the humour. I chuckled to myself and recalled my own such incident years before.