The Whirly Door

Dark clouds crept in around sunset, replacing warm sunshine with brisk, frigid wind. A blanket of gloom erased the evening star. Street lights were a poor replacement for moonbeams dancing upon the surface of Lake Michigan. As the season’s first snowflakes descended over the city, Brigitte nearly missed Griffin Street. She made a hard left, while trying to downshift. Brigitte wished her new Mini Cooper had an automatic transmission instead of a stick shift. It wasn’t easy shifting gears with Lilliah’s hummer-sized derriere in the passenger seat, the fleshy overhang must have bruises after driving through Chicago traffic. Brigitte made one final turn, and then whipped the car under the portico of Overkill Inn and turned off the engine.

“We made it!” Brigitte breathed a sigh of relief.

Lilliah didn’t hear Brigitte; she was too busy watching the doorman. He wore a brilliant red jacket over a white shirt and black slacks. His white gloved hands were never still, always moving as he greeted guests and opened doors, ending with an upturned palm. As if an organ grinder monkey, he performed for the all-important tip. Brigitte wondered what he would do if she didn’t bother tipping. She had to admit he was fun to watch. She was fascinated by his thick, short dreadlocks. They bounced merrily as he performed a few Michael Jackson-like moves on his way to assist Brigitte and Lilliah.

Whether it was from traveling a long distance or bruises from the constant shifting of gears, Lilliah’s backside seemed to have swollen to an even larger level. Hard to believe, but true. As a result, when Lilliah tried to get out of the car, her derriere was lodged inside the car. Mr. Dreadlocks, seeing a huge tip in his future, rushed to assist the poor woman trying unsuccessfully to exit the car. Unaware of Lilliah’s strength, he held out his white-gloved hand. Lilliah grabbed hold. Instead of Mr. Dreadlocks pulling Lilliah out, Lilliah pulled Mr. Dreadlocks in. His head flew past Lilliah’s shoulder, almost hitting Brigitte in the nose. He looked shocked. In his defense, Lilliah’s size can be deceiving. At first glance, Lilliah appears to be of normal size. She carries her weight behind her, which in simple English means she has a humongous rump.

Tired and ready to retire for the night, Brigitte propped both of her feet on Lilliah’s back and pushed as hard as she could. Success! Both Mr. Dreadlock and Lilliah were thrust forward onto the sidewalk. Unfortunately, Lilliah landed on top. Mr. Dreadlocks' face quickly turned a dark shade of scarlet. Unable to call out for help, he flailed his arms wildly in an effort to loose himself from Lilliah’s tonnage.

“Roll left!” Brigitte ordered.

Lilliah obeyed, and after three attempts finally rolled over onto her side. Mr. Dreadlock was free. He crawled over to the building and, after several tries, finally got to his feet. He started to run, escape was paramount, but then he saw Mr. Mendelson’s frown. Unfortunately, it was Mr. Dreadlock's job to help with the guest's luggage.

Keeping his distance, Mr. Dreadlock questioned, “You don’t need help with your luggage, do you?”

Shyly, Lilliah said, “Oh, no thank you. I only have one small bag. I can manage just fine.”

Mr. Dreadlock flattened himself against the building, giving Lilliah plenty of room as she trundled toward the door. Too bad he misjudged Lilliah’s need for space.

“Oh! Look! A whirly door! Come on Brigitte, let’s give it a try,” Lilliah exclaimed while picking up speed.

Just before Lilliah reached the door, the strap on her overnight bag wrapped around Mr. Dreadlocks’ neck, dragging him along. Someone should really have a talk with Lilliah about the size of her rear. Friends and family should stage an intervention, but that would be sometime in the future…an intervention wouldn’t save Mr. Dreadlocks tonight. Brigitte watched, knowing an event of catastrophic size was about to take place, yet she was frozen in place, unable to move even one finger. Fate took over. When one’s time is up, one’s time was up, and this appeared to be Mr. Dreadlocks’ time.

As the whirly door paused in front of Lilliah, she lunged for the opening. It was a snug fit, but she managed to get most of her derriere inside. Brigitte watched in horror as the door came to an abrupt halt. Lilliah’s rump was wedged against the outer wall of the building and the center door post. Mr. Dreadlock’s entire body was smashed against the glass panel of the whirly door, behind Lilliah. With eyes bulging, his now flat face registered horror, his deflated nose failed in its attempt to find an air pocket laced with oxygen.

Lilliah, puzzled by the door’s failure to move, pleaded silently for assistance. Brigitte continued to stare, knowing Mr. Dreadlocks would soon be Mr. Dead-locks if the door didn’t move soon. Realizing she had to do something, Brigitte reached out to help, but her thin arms were no match for the wedged door. Brigitte’s cry for help was drowned out by the scream of sirens…thank goodness someone had called 911.

A strong virile fireman, carrying an axe over one shoulder, bravely approached the door. He took one look at Lilliah and Mr. Dreadlocks, assessed the situation, and took a swing at the glass. The glass broke. In keeping with Mr. Dreadlocks’ luck, the glass didn’t fall out. After all, the manufacturer had installed safety glass. Couldn’t have a guest getting cut by shards of broken glass now could we? Mr. Dreadlocks’ horrified face peered through a web of cracked glass, effectively turning him into a mural on a stained glass window. Seeing his first attempt fail, the fireman reared back once more and hooked the axe head into the top of the door, ripping the cracked safety glass away from the frame. Mr. Dreadlocks was free at last.

Now that the whirly door had a larger opening, Lilliah was free. She took a step back, tripping over the door frame, falling backward onto poor unconscious Mr. Dreadlocks.

“Roll left!” Brigitte yelled.

Lilliah complied, with the help of four rather muscular firemen, allowing the paramedics to swoop in and place Mr. Dreadlocks’ motionless body on a stretcher. The sound of receding sirens filled the morning air, as dawn transformed the thin blanket of snow into sparks of glitter.

Lilliah shrugged and turned to Brigitte, “Let’s check in.”

“Okay,” Brigitte said. “But use the door this time.”

And they did. However, their visit to Overkill Inn would not be as expected.

To be continued….