Humor

Please Don’t Close the Door, I Need to Get Through

When miscommunication makes for a comedy of errors

Being asked to help with food preparation for my granddaughter’s 8th birthday party, I was more than glad to contribute. However, misunderstandings and changes in the weather that day led to a few chaotic events.

Rain or not?

Due to predicted rain, my granddaughter’s 8th birthday party, originally planned for outdoors, was rescheduled to indoors; then, with a better weather prediction during the morning, it was decided once again to move it outdoors.

This meant last-minute changes, including texting guests and letting them know to head down the driveway to the patio, rather than using the front door to the house.

With rain no longer on the way, we were able to blow up the bounce house in the backyard for the children’s enjoyment, and open long tables to set the food on.

Some of the guests came early to assist in decorating the yard, and as I had agreed to help with food, I brought down snacks, appetizers, and drinks while my daughter-in-law, Paula, warmed trays of already-prepared foods in the oven.

A safer path

We realized it might not be safe to carry hot food across the upper deck and down the steep stairs, and determined the safest route would be using the stairs off the kitchen, across the basement, then entering the patio through the sliding doors.

Once snacks were out and guests were arriving, I was tasked with bringing down the hot food, one tray at a time.

With the first tray of chicken wings in my arms, I approached the double sliding patio door but couldn’t tell if the screen side was open, perhaps because the deck above blocked some of the light and the basement was dimly lit.

I called out to someone to check if it was open before attempting to walk through it.

My son, Andrew, who was on the patio, heard me and slid the screen door open. I unloaded the first steam tray onto the table safely and was about to head back upstairs.

A simple request

Before leaving, I reminded Andrew I would be bringing more hot food in a few minutes and requested he leave the screen door open for me. He nodded his head, which I took as an acknowledgment.

When I reached the kitchen, Paula had the second tray out of the oven and ready to be carried down on a baking sheet to stabilize it.

While wearing oven mitts, I held the baking sheet on the ends, carefully and slowly making my way back down the kitchen stairs, through the basement, and towards what I believed to be the open door.

Boom!

I ran right into it, nose first, spilling brown gravy from the chicken marsala all over my chest.

“Why the heck did you do that?” I yelled over to him, becoming annoyed. “I asked you to leave the screen open as I would be carrying more hot food.”

“Calm down, Ma! I forgot, okay?” Andrew remarked, attempting to diffuse the situation and admitting he got sidetracked talking to someone.

He seemed to be on the verge of laughter as he opened the door a second time. I placed the now-squished tray next to the one I had carried down only minutes ago, while attempting to reshape the edges a bit.

Please, leave the door open

This time I pleaded with Andrew not to close the screen door or at least keep a watchful eye out until I brought the last of the food down, and to be sure others heard me, I said it loudly, hoping not to repeat the incident. Both he and one of his friends looked at me and said, “Okay, okay.”

As I ascended the stairs toward the kitchen, I could feel my nose swelling and throbbing from it hitting the door.

When Paula saw me, she called out, “What happened to you? Did you fall? What’s wrong with your nose? Did the tray make it to the table?”

“The food made it, and no, I didn’t fall. Your husband closed the screen door on me, and I walked into it!”

“Didn’t you know it was closed?” She said, almost laughing.

“No, if I had known it was closed, I wouldn’t have walked into it!” I said a little sarcastically.

Once more, Paula loaded up the last, heaviest tray on a baking sheet into my arms, and off I went, down the kitchen stairs, across the dark basement. When I saw no one by the door, I assumed it was open and headed straight for it.

Boom!

Once more, I collided nose-first into the closed screen door while holding a tray filled with lasagna, which was now plastered against my chest, leaving a big saucy imprint on my blouse.

Standing there with yet another layer of food dripping down my chest, I blurted out loud, “What’s wrong with you people? You knew I was coming back down. Why did you close the screen door?”

My son’s attempt to calm me down frustrated me further.

Then he added insult to injury by asking if I needed glasses. I promptly responded, “No, I don’t need glasses. It’s difficult to tell if the screen is open or not. Why do you keep closing it on me?”

“To keep the mosquitoes out! Why are you overreacting?” he questioned.

“Really,” I’m shouting by now, “how many mosquitoes are you expecting?”

Smirking, he opened the door, yet again, as I managed to get the last of the food on the table.

After I made my way up the stairs and back to the kitchen, feeling the pressure on my nose and my blouse sticking to me uncomfortably, Paula yelled out, “What the heck is going on down there? Why isn’t anyone helping you? Why is your nose bleeding?”

I told her they closed the door on me again, to which she asked, “Why do you keep walking into it if you know it’s closed?”

“Seriously! If I noticed it was closed, I wouldn’t keep trying to walk through it!”

Another mishap

Once I changed into clean clothes of Paula’s and put ice on my nose, I felt better as I enjoyed the food and watched the kids happily play in the bounce house.

A short while later, there was a loud crash, followed by a man screaming as if he were hurt or startled, some swearing, and then lots of laughter.

As it turned out, one of the guests who had arrived late to the party entered the house through the front door and into the kitchen. When he realized we were out back, he descended the kitchen stairs, walked through the basement, and headed towards the patio doors.

Boom!

He walked straight into the closed screen door, apparently harder than I had, causing it to fall off its hinges!

We burst out laughing when he entered the patio, holding onto the sides of the door with the upper frame and mesh draped over his head.

As my son helped him out of the broken door, his friend said defensively, “Dude, I’m sorry about the door, but you need a light or something down here. It looked like the screen door was open!”

Vera-Marie Landi is a retired Systems Analyst for a major pharmaceutical company. She graduated from Fairleigh Dickinson with an MBA and recently attended courses in Creative Writing. She enjoys spending time with family, dancing, camping, baking, and writing. Her dream is to see her poetry, stories, and essays published.