Doors Hit Moscow

…The subject for this column hit me the other day, it’s Moscow doors.

The things are heavy and swing with an intent to inflict real bodily harm. Built of steel, iron or some petrified Siberian hardwood, they stand taller than average NBA basketball player and weight twice as much.

It seems the witty engineers designed these cumbersome gateways as a means for sorting out the weak from the strong. I have seen poor drunks throw their little brittle bodies up against immovable metro monsters in van attempts to escape the bitter cold to no avail. Babushka, on the other hand, have acquired sturdy forearms from a lifetime of heavy door pushing.

Another strange thing about Moscow’s doors is that they have a tendency to move. Please allow me to explain. For example, at the central Post Office on Tverskaya there are four Mike Tyson-size doors going around the front of the building. And as seems to be the inexplicable Russian tradition, only one of these doors is going to grant you entrance. For as long as I can remember, it was always the door on the far left that was unlocked at the Post Office. So naturally I became conditioned to go to that door every time I had to mail a letter or postcard. but just one set of doors would be too easy. Once you successfully locate the first unlocked door, there is another set of four doors to chose from. Now, common sense would tell you successfully passed through. On the contraire! The next unlocked door is usually the one to the far right of the first door. So by the time you finally get to the lobby of the building you fill like one of those poor laboratory rats working his way through a maze to nibble some old cheese.

So the other day I was hurrying to the Post Office, as everybody does. You just want to get in and get out without any ugly surprises. So I’m running towards the building with my head down. I bounce up the steps and run to the left as it habit. I hit the door in full stride and my arms suddenly collapse inward and my head knocked off the glass like a fly hitting a windshield on Interstate 22. Splat! Somebody at the Ministry of Doors decided to make a switcheroo but I never got the message.

Questions for discussion:

1. Did you hit such situations like described in the text?
2. How would you explain this problem with doors to your foreign friend?