That Joke isn't Funny

I wish I could laugh, but that joke isn't funny anymore...

Unbelievable. The timing could not have been worse. For several weeks I have looked forward to the concert of a certain artist whose name begins with M and ends in oz. Through all the crap of the last few weeks I hung on to the anticipation of that event. Two weeks ago I missed the last bus to Boston while trying to see a friend there visiting from out west. I was disappointed but thought, "I've still got Morrissey." Last week, at the end of class a student asked if they could do group work more often because, she said, "today I actually learned something and when you're up there just talking I learn nothing." I thanked her for her "input" in my iciest voice and closed my eyes to remember.

When Saturday arrived, my friend and I planned to meet 8ish in front of Radio City. I needed an hour to get there, just in case. I started to get ready at 6:15. When I tried to go to the bathroom, the handle on my door moved but the door didn't. Ha, Ha, very funny. I turned it again. And again and again. I couldn't really be stuck in my room. This was a joke. Not laughing. I was really locked in. I pounded on the door and yelled. No one was home.

I didn't panic yet, I had my tool box in here. All I had to do was take the doorknob off. I'm a handy person it shouldn't have been a problem. But I couldn't get it. The knob had been coming apart for awhile and someone put sticky stuff inside to hold it together. After working on it awhile the panic started.

All I could think was that I might miss the show. That's when I picked up the hammer. I'd knock the knob off. I hammered. Hard. It got dented and bent. But it was still there. I had to hit harder. Smash! smash! Smash! My blood pressure rose with each satisfying crunch.

The knob on my side broke off. But the rest of it stayed on. I had to laugh and cry hysterically. I called my friend to let him know the situation, I was the one with the tickets. He offered to come help me out, but he wouldn't have been able to get in the locked front door. No point in that.

I attacked the handle again. It could not taunt me this way. After more hammering, this time with a lot more force due to my increased frustration, the knob went flying out of the door into the hallway, broken to bits. Yay! All I had to do was undo the latch-thingy. I moved parts of it around but it didn't budge. Huh. I called my brother the engineer to ask how I could get the latch loose. He explained the anatomy of the knob and told me which piece to turn. But it didn't move. I'd broken it. He said I should take the door off the hinges and explained how to do it. But the pins were painted over and I couldn't get them out. At that he told me to call the police. It was already after 7. I didn't have time to wait for the police or anyone else.

I yelled and pounded the door. My life of late has been joyless. I trudge through my days, getting by, trying not to drown under the work that forever hangs over my head. This concert would give me 90 minutes of pleasure. What kind of cruel joke was this? Was God trying to teach me a lesson? I didn't get it nor did I want to. How could I miss this show? It was so wrong. All out of options--I prayed. Please, please, please, let me get what I want. It would be the first time.... Then I rested awhile on the floor.

The hinges! I had to try the hinges again. Maybe if I got the pliers around the tops tightly enough? The needlenose pliers closed on the top pin perfectly. I worked it up a little until I couldn't anymore. The hammer? Yes! I pounded the pliers up with the hammer. Movement. I had hope.

Woo-hoo! It came out! The bottom hinge was next. That one was tougher, I had to chisel around the wood. But I got it out too. Now I just had to move the door. No! The door was still stuck! I pulled at the top with my feet pushing against the wall, infuriated all over again. So close to freedom, how could the door still be stuck!? I considered the hammer now lying on the floor. No. That was my last resort. The door was really heavy and paint encrusted but it should come off. If not, then the hammer and I would bring a violent death to the door. It would not stand between me and my little piece of joy.

By then it was almost 8 pm. Finally, I lifted the door off the hinges and got it out of the frame. I rushed madly then to get ready and go. I got off the subway on 42nd, 9 blocks away and it was near 9 pm. I ran most of the way on the street to avoid the stupid tourist crowds. I made it. Sweaty and breathless. My throat sore from screaming. We only missed two songs.

Near the end of the show, they played 'How Soon is Now'. I never thought I'd hear that song live. I nearly wept. That alone made it worth everything. For my short review go here.

One day this will be funny. I laughed at myself last night, but not for the humor. For the hideous ridiculousness of it, like the laughter of the damned who can do no more. Right now, this is still a cruel joke. One of the kind we all find ourselves in, our hand forced by the random or controlled chaos of life. Despite my fleeting thoughts to the contrary, I don't think God caused the sticking door. I think the world was programmed to work this way, so that obstacles burst from the ground, randomly pushed by the entropy of nature. We cross the landscape of our lives and inevitably run into mountains, boulders, rocks, and pebbles. I think God eases the passage just enough so we can get by.

It all worked out in the end. I enjoyed myself and had a nice dinner with my friend afterwards. But, had I not been able to get out of my room, you would now be reading about a Brooklyn massacre instead of a defunct door.

Well, it suddenly struck me,
I just might die with a smile on my face after all

--The Smiths

Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.