More Door Troubles

I seem to have a way of getting trapped in buildings. If you’re not sure what I’m talking about check out this post.

I’ll wait. Go ahead. Take your time.

Back already? I don’t think you clicked that link, but I’ll go on anyway.

For this story, I had my trusty side-kick Mom and we were not in an empty building. It was a church on Sunday morning, so there were plenty of witnesses.

Let me paint a mental image of this building because, like the movie store, it requires understanding the layout. You know how most churches have their front door on, well, the front of the building? Not this one. It was on the back under a sheltered walk that ran between two buildings, which would be nice for rainy days, but not so hot for visitors trying to get inside. It was also set into the building just enough to where you couldn’t see it from the parking lot very well.

Mom and I drove into the parking lot that Sunday morning and, you guessed it, couldn’t find the door. Luckily, someone who went there (we hoped!) was going in so we jumped out of the car and hurried after her. Thankfully, she was going to the sanctuary and not somewhere like the nursery where it would look weird if we came busting in after her.

We had a routine. We would sit in the back in case the church wasn’t what we we’re hoping for so that when the service ended we could leave fairly quickly. So we parked ourselves on the back pew next to the door and settled in as best as we could. I say that because our backbones practically wear a hole into wooden pews after about five minutes. I’m so thankful for padded seats in church.

The service went on its way, but we weren’t feeling it. It wasn’t the one. Near the end of preaching, Mom poked me and asked if I’d want to leave during the closing prayer. I said ok. Now don’t turn up your noses at me. I don’t advocate leaving during the prayer, but it was a one-time thing.

The pastor drew to a close, had everyone close their eyes, and started the prayer. Mom and I quietly got our things and went to the door. I tried it, but the thing wouldn’t budge. Making frantic motions at Mom, I tried to silently explain that it was stuck. Either that, or they locked us in for the duration.

So Mom, AKA Mrs. Muscles, gave it a pull. Well, more like a yank. It flew open with such explosive force that it sounded like a bomb going off in the middle of the closing prayer. The pastor faithfully continues his prayer without pausing, but I know every head in the church jerked around to look at the visitors leaving.

We scrambled to the parking lot, just about ran to the car, and as soon as we were in, Mom said, “Hurry, let’s go!”

We were gone by the time church let out. But no doubt the regulars that went there were glad we didn’t come back.

Hopefully, they fixed that stuck door problem.


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