Two weeks ago I was standing in my living room, minding my own business, when my house tried to kill me.
I don’t know what prompted this sudden onslaught of malice—I’ve always thought my house and I had a loving and caring relationship. The House kept me warm and dry and held all my stuff for me. In return, I keep it clean, adorn its walls with pretty things, and repair its parts when they grow old or breakdown.
Didn’t I replace its old furnace before it stopped heating? The roof before it starting leaking? Sure, I waited until the water heater flooded the basement before replacing that, but overall I’ve done my best.
I thought my house loved me.
But then it tried to kill me.
So, as I said, I was standing in my living room. My living room has a large patio door that leads out onto the back deck. Instead of drapes or blinds, I have heavy wood bifold doors on the inside. I open them up in the morning to let the light in, and close them up in the evening.
It all happened in an instant. I was standing with my back to the door when my spidey senses started tingling. I’m not sure if I heard a creak or felt a disturbance in the air, but I started to move away just as the door broke loose from the wall and came crashing towards me.
If I hadn’t move at all, the door would’ve fallen on my head or my back, and who knows what would’ve happened.
As it was, the top of the door caught me just behind the knee, and proceeded to slide down my calf. I went flying and hit the floor.
Basically, the door shoestring tackled me like the Steelers’ Big Ben Roethlisberger tackled Nick Harper in 2005 and kept their Super Bowl winning season alive.
The door was equally maimed in its assassination attempt. It hit me right at its corner, and as a result the top piece of supporting wood broke apart and all the slats fell out of the door and went flying.
Broken pieces of wood were everywhere. My leg was red with what looked like road rash—the bruises wouldn’t show up in earnest until the next morning.
I examined the door and discovered the culprit—a few days earlier, I’d had new carpeting installed (see, taking care of my house, and this is the thanks I get!) and it was taller and thicker than its predecessor. The carpet had pushed the pin holding the door in place up and out, so the door was just teetering in place, waiting to fall.
Why it waited until I was standing in the living room to fall is an unanswered question.
As it was late and I’d been planning on going to bed, I left the mess for the morning.
I woke up with a bruised and swollen leg, but I had the last laugh.
I took those doors down, dragged them out to the curb and watched as the trashman crushed them to bits in his truck while I laughed manically.
Then I hung drapes.
Let’s hope the house has learned its lesson.
When you come for the Queen, you best not miss.
That’s a big ouch, I sympathise having had a manhole cover try to kill me a couple of weeks ago (and still have a hole in my shin). That’s a great bruise though, it’ll be well pretty when all the colours start up!
I just keep thinking how glad I am it hot my calf instead of my shin or I’d be laid up right now with a broken leg for sure. Hope you went back and exacted revenge on the manhole cover!
It’s been repaired now so I just swear at it when I go past!
That works too!
Is this some kind of Legstagram Injury challenge that you and fraggle are having? Do you think your door is going to have a go at her majesty the Queen next?
Trashperson, surely, doesn’t have to be a man in 2022?
My door has been rendered unfit to have a go at anyone. There would have to be some Stephen King level sinister forces at work for it to reform after having been crushed to bits. You’re right if course about the trash person, though in my case Joe is a man who picks up my bins each week!
Are there pics of your bins? You could be part of the Binstagram craze!
I do think there could be a cool horror film about fighting your own house. Topical after lockdown too!
It would make a good horror film, though I’d be too scared to see it. My binstagram game is strong…..our local government gave us enormous reusable bins. You could fit a body in them. Not that I know that from personal experience…..
I’ll like this comment tagged as Exhibit A, the prosecution rests, the court will take a short recess…
You will never have enough to convict!
I am slowly but surely building a case…
Lies!
I call Joe the mailman as this afternoon’s surprise witness. Joe, when did you first notice the bins getting notably heavier?
Joe knows nothing!
We’ll see what he says under oath.
Uh uh
Just don’t ask the last time he saw my annoying neighbor….
The court will regognise exhibit B, a photograph of a bruised leg. You claim that your house came to life and attacked you, is that correct?
Oh come on! Don’t bring my poor leg into this!
You offered it us as evidence during Discovery, you can’t take that leg back now!
Objection! My leg is between me and the door- it has no relevance to this case……on second thought, the door was in the bin, that’s why it was so heavy. Joe will testify to that fact just as soon as I have a little chat with him
Witness tampering! The DOJ will swing into action and do nothing immediately…
*blows on fingernails”. And that’s how it’s done…..
The contents of these fingernails will be considered to be exhibit C, and are likely to be a perfect DNA match for the torn-apart remnants of your neighbours. A slam dunk case!
Great last sentence to this post. LOL. The first thing I thought of when hearing your door mishap is a couple of years back, three days prior to Thanksgiving, I went to open the refrigerator door and it separated from the hinges and crashed to the floor. It barely missed my foot. Fortunately, we were able to get the door to rest in position for a couple of days until Amazon delivered the parts on Thanksgiving Eve, making for a much more normal T-Day. Otherwise, we would have been left having to open the door, put it on the floor, put it back, etc. every time we went into the fridge. Drapes > Doors!
Oh wow! A missing refrigerator door would definitely cause problems!