Every Wednesday
the cleaning lady, who goes by the name Monica, comes to my parents’ house. And while she cleans,
usually from 2 to 6, I hide in the safety of my room not to resurface until she’s
left. Last week, however, my parents went out shopping and asked me to unlock
the back door so that Monica wouldn’t be locked out.
I really hadn’t anticipated any problems with that but as I went downstairs at
20 minutes to 2 to unlock the door, I heard a knock … Monica was early! Most normal
people would probably just open the door, greet the woman and let her in, but I
didn’t. Instead, I panicked, dropped to the floor in attempt to hide, and
waited till she went away. As I lay on the floor several solutions passed
through my mind, none of which were very helpful since they either involved the
One Ring forged in Mordor (yes, I am a nerd, sue me), an invisibility cloak, supernatural
powers or a teleportation device that could transport me from the living room to
my bedroom. After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a minute or
two, I decided I only had two options. Either I would open the door and run the
risk of embarrassing myself in front of Monica, or I would keep it closed and
face the certainty that my dad would be furious at me. With wobbly legs and a face like a tomato, I
went towards the door and anxiously turned the key.
Monica laughed at me, said how pleased she was to see me again and asked me how
I was. I tried to anwer her, but I was suddenly unable to speak coherently or
control the volume of my voice. First I only uttered some faint mumblings and then,
when I tried to talk louder and more clearly, I was suddenly screaming at her: “HELLO!!
I AM GOING UPSTAIRS!!”. I then turned
around and started speed walking towards the hallway. Feeling incredibly stupid
and embarrassed about the whole situation, I stopped paying attention to my
surroundings and ran into a cabinet. I turned around to see if Monica had heard
and seen me crashing, and she naturally had. “Are you all right? Why don’t you
go outside, it’s nice and sunny”, she said in a tone of voice that one might
usually reserve for a mentally handicapped 5-year-old. I smiled at her, my red face
burning like the sun, and walked away whilst trying to hide the pain in my hand
from hitting the cabinet. Before I closed the door behind me I shouted “BYE!”,
In a futile last attempt to repair the situation and act like a normal person.
I was however well aware that that ship
had sailed (and crashed, and burned).
A few days later I told my therapist about the awkward situation and he asked
me how I would handle a similar situation the next time it happened. The only
logical answer I could think of was “I wouldn’t open the door”. :s
