Cursed doors


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It’s three weeks now that the landlord says he wants to repair the apartment’s main door because it gets stuck at random, but today he mailed saying he cannot come this week because of “unforeseen circumstances”. I had been playing Cinderella for days to make everything as clean as a dirty dog allows, but it was useless. Next time I will spend less time vacuuming and more time stuffing tumbleweeds of inert dog fur into pillows.

It’s weird and unsettling that we can never have our doors repaired, no matter which country we’re in.

In Iceland we had a broken door as well. It was a bit different than a door that gets stuck at random, it was a door with a huge hole in it. Oh but… A hole is after all just void where wood is supposed to be, it’s not that serious. Because, who cares about break-ins in Iceland? We sure didn’t, even though we had an attempted one while we were in (but that was not regular criminals, it was Eastern Europe mafia; and they were actually trying to get into the neighboring apartment, not ours; and they got in through the window not through the door… well, OK, it’s a long story). The landlord of that apartment, a very carefree fella who plays in a popular Icelandic band, made the hole himself with his fist one night when he forgot the keys and was too drunk to come up with a better plan. Then he moved out and rented out the apartment. Twice. And he never fixed the goddamn hole in the door, even if he was sent reminders regularly. He promised he would, but he magically managed to forget about it for four years!

I don’t know why, but I’m starting to suspect there must be some voodoo curse on our doors.