Angry Automatic Door

Hello humans, how goes the day?

Automatic doors, they're brilliant aren't they? Well they can be and certainly should be, but there's always the ones which are just a little bit dickish. You know the ones I mean; the kind of door which wont upon until you've practically walked into it, and even then it slowly slides open mocking you like some kind of sadistic robot gatekeeper. Then there's the ones which are all too eager to close, perhaps they don't want to let the cold in, maybe they don't like my jumper, or feel threatened by my ridiculous height in some way. Whatever the reason these doors definitely have attitude issues.

Now I know what you're thinking "Phil, stop being stupid, they're just doors. It's not like they're instinctively out to hinder you, after all 'tis but a mere machine." and I would agree wholeheartedly, if it weren't for the fact that the doors at Sheffield station in particular really seem to hate me. They appear to work just fine for most other people and yet when confronted with my lanky form they take just long enough before they acknowledge  my existence to make me question who installed these sly buggers, and why are they are so set on slowing down my boarding of a train.

Maybe I should try some kind of peace offering to the deity of automated systems. Of course such a thing would probably look quite weird and would most likely be frowned upon socially.

Now I'm not saying I hate automatic doors, oh no quite the contrary. In fact when compared to a more traditional doorway they have they key advantage of not causing embarrassment when slamming into a 'pull to open door' for several moments; most likely gaining reactions from passersby ranging from bemused to thoroughly disgruntled at your ineptitude at a simple entry procedure. That is of course unless the automatic door is an arse, which opens far to slowly and you walk straight into the bloody thing anyway like the pillock you are.

And don't even get me started on the brilliant but terrifying creation that is the revolving door. I remember all to well being smushed into these things in the past with hoardes of other people, all either trying to keep up with the pace of the thing (yes granny, get a move on, if you go any slower I'm sure this thing will try and eat me), or conversely moving so slow that time seems to stretch. Seconds feel like minutes or hours, and you begin to wonder if you'll ever escape the slow menacing turns of the automatic revolving door. You gaze through the glass to see other people moving toward it and want to call out to warn them, but it's too late they like you are trapped in the spinning prison.

There is then the all too likely, and most feared possibility, that you somehow miss the exit and must go around the rotating nightmare once more. I saw this happen to an old lady once in a Morrisons a few years ago. For all I know she may still be there, trapped in an endless spinning horror. Her own personal, dizzying hell.


If there's one thing we can all take away from this, it's that doors are not to be trifled with, oh they may seem simple enough but if you fail to show a door the respect it deserves... Well, you may just end up like the little old lady from Morrisons.


Stay safe, and thanks for reading.
See you in the future.