In my naiveté, I failed to plan ahead suitably for my trip through the revolving door. I see that now.
I thought it would be but a simple thing. I assumed I was leaving nothing to chance, whereas in reality, nothing could have been further from the truth.
I pressed against the push bar with my forearm, the way I always did in revolving doors when my hands were full. My hands were full. In my left, I held some papers and my eyeglasses and the strap to my purse. A hot cup of coffee occupied my right.
But hardly had I begun pushing, completing two full steps forward, when I noticed something was wrong. A great assemblage of people filled the bank lobby within, just sort of standing about. Loafing, perhaps. Blinking white lights on the interior walls indicated something.
Fire drill or fire or robbery.
It was too late for me. The door leaf against which I pushed was by now even with the interior opening of the door, while the door leaf behind me was already well past the front opening.
People inside the bank waved for me to stop. To not enter.
I could not stop. I could not stay where I was, trapped within the door. That was entirely unsatisfactory to me. But neither could I go backwards.
To my way of thinking, backing up was not an option for two reasons: First, I was not entirely certain that revolving doors were capable of revolving both ways, clockwise as well as counter-clockwise. Second, with my hands being so full, I was not capable of now pulling the push bar that I – up until just that moment – had been pushing.
The only way for me, therefore, was forward, much to the visible chagrin of the people inside the bank lobby, many of whom by this time were noticing the difficulty I was having in the door.
I pushed my way in and I kept pushing. I smiled and I pushed. I waved hello to them with my coffee cup and I pushed. Circling back around towards the front sidewalk now, I could hear a great laughter behind me.
Laughter at me or laughter with me.
I’ll go to my grave never knowing for sure which.