Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Door knob

The media like to keep you paranoid. All the news, warnings and testimonies are made to make you worried. Paranoid. Scared.

I felt uneasy on my way from work. Even though I moved thirteen thousand kilometres from the bad neighbourhood I lived in, the idea of a loud, drunk bunch walking behind me simply makes me twitch.

Especially after being bombarded by all the incidents seen on the TV, I start getting the feeling that someone's after me. I was glad to catch the green light and leave the guys behind me. It's just annoying.

So I'm walking to my apartment, thinking about why this happens, why we get like this, and why I keep reacting. I tell myself it's a defence mechanism - one of those that keeps the humanity going.

Yeah, let's go with that.

I enter the courtyard and check out the mailbox, but there's nothing there but junk mail. It seems like the postmen mind the no junk mail sign as much as the people seem to mind common sense.

So I climb the stairs and realize my front door is open. The screen door is closed, but the door is open. The whole paranoia film whooshes back and I'm standing there like an idiot, holding the plastic bag of fruit and veggies I'd bought, and I see dozens of scenes from all the movies I've ever seen that has to do with break ins.

It crosses my mind that the boomerang I got last week would be a good thing to have in my hands. The unlucky thing is it's right on the opposite side of the apartment, mounted on the wall. I peek behind the crack in the doors and, taught by numerous Hollywood movies, check if there's someone behind the door.

I drop the bag of goodies on the ground, since it's not going to help me anyway. I call my friend because it would be wise to have someone on the line in case I get, well, smacked on the head with a frying pan. No one's answering, so I just go in. I open all the rooms, check behind the doors and cover corner by corner, worried that someone might've just broken in as I was coming home.

I was just retarded. As I was leaving the flat this morning, I tried turning the knob, but I didn't try opening the door. The lock obviously didn't click well enough and the draft opened up the door sometime during the day.

I can only be lucky that there's only one other apartment at the top of the stairs and no one went straight for it.

I hate Australian door knobs.

Grrr, door knob, grrr!


  1. provjerio sve ormare i ispod kreveta?
    scumbag kvaka

  2. I wouldn't trust those knobs either, maybe it is the force of habit but I think the version which we use in Croatia is a better design then that turn-around-and-wait-for-it-to-click knob. I suppose it has a normal name.

    1. Well, even if they have a normal name, their purpose is pretty much flawed. :/



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