There is a beauty shop that rents space in The Grandmother's senior apartment building. The fire doors into the stair well by their space are broken. That means they don't close gently like those doors are supposed to. They slam. Every time. Sometimes louder than others, but they do slam. I've injured myself several different ways trying to keep that door from slamming. I'm small and the door is heavy, and no matter what I do the door slams. None of the other doors in this building do this.
The other day, I found a note on the door saying "don't let the door slam". I laughed. I know it's loud, but it's not a matter of me letting the door slam. I can't keep the door from slamming.
I stopped by the shop on my way out today to ask if they had left the note, thinking I'd make sure they realized the door is broken and that, as a tenant, they really should report things like that.
She was not interested in hearing it. She said that I could keep it from slamming. This is our exchange:
Her: "Can't you stand there and hold it while it closes to keep it from slamming?"
Me: "I've tried that. I've hurt my wrist and shoulder trying to stand in the way of that door. It's heavy. Nothing I've done has kept it from slamming without injuring me. The door is broken and needs repair."
Her: "All you have to do is wait for it to close so it won't slam."
Me: "The door is too heavy for me. It has injured me when I do that. The door is broken and really should be repaired."
Her: "You could take the elevator."
Me: "Yes, I could, but it's healthier for me to take the stairs. The door is broken. It could be fixed."
Her [turning back and walking away]: "Oh, good grief."
Why won't she just see about getting the door fixed? How is her problem my fault? This is Not My Fault!
She, on the other hand, could put a repair request in at the office. Sheesh.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
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