Saving My Life
And in those days a decree went out from the Policy Wonks that all the flats should have fire doors. And all were compelled to have fire doors. This was the first decree, when Burnham was the ruler of Parliament.
And behold, carpenters came from the East, for they had seen the work order. And they went, bearing tools, and the doors of the flats became fire doors and the Health and Safety Committees rejoiced.
So, yeah, we had our doors all turned into fire doors, which involved affixing pneumatic door-closers to each door. This was because we’re in the habit of leaving our front doors wide open all day while we were at work, or even off on a fortnight’s holiday, inviting any random fire that happened by to swoop in and burn the place down.
All it did was waste time, effort and money, and all it accomplished was pissing off the tenants (well, one of them, anyway). In no way did it make anyone any safer. But now, if you arrive laden with shopping or a bulky package, instead of gently pushing your door open and going inside, you need to leverage your way into your flat as the door continually tries to push you back outside. It’s ridiculous, and it takes away just a bit more of my freedom to make my own choices and live my own life.
In our flat, the pneumatic device juts into the hallway, making it impossible to fully open the upper storage cupboard. In addition to this, and for our own safety, our door handles were removed (inside and out) and replaced with a redundant lock with only a knob on the inside and nothing on the outside. Pulling the door open by that knob is not easy, and then—I originally thought—I would step outside and have the door slam closed behind me, bringing images of me in my bathrobe, locking myself out while getting the milk. In reality, the door swings closed but does not latch. It stops about an inch from the casing, meaning I need to pull it closed. But there is nothing to pull, which leads me to the next bit of lunacy.
In addition to saving our lives via door-closers, they replaced our letterboxes.
Our letterbox has been on our door for the ten years we have lived here and, I suspect, many years prior to that, yet it has never, to my knowledge, invited a rogue fire to spread into or out of our flat. Nevertheless, it—along with all the others in the block—was deemed enough of a threat to life, limb and the general welfare that it had to be replaced with something that can best be described as a beartrap.
The flaps, both inner and outer, are so springy that, if you are able to pry one open, you’d best keep your fingers out of the way when they snap closed or you are likely to lose one or two. This, however, should not be my problem. Should not. It should only be a problem for the postie who will need to juggle the post with one hand, pry the beartrap open, stick an envelope through the outer beartrap and past the gauntlet of stiff bristles (for some reason) and then out of the inner beartrap which, I cannot fathom the edge of an envelope winning against in a push/pull contest.
But that’s the postie’s problem; it will only become a problem for me when they give up and stop trying to deliver post. For us, however, it’s the only way to pull the door closed. With nothing beyond a flat disk on the outside of the door, the only way to close the door is to put your hand inside the beartrap and pull. It is not ideal. Or safe. Or an improvement in any feasible way.
And the Lamb opened the fifth seal, and I heard the voice say, “Come!” and I looked and there before me was a dappled horse! Its rider was Health, and Safety was following close behind, and they were given power over all the earth to torment by niggling rules, unnecessary inconveniences, and daft laws, until those afflicted begged to be cast into the lake of fire just to get away from them.
One Comment
Miranda Harding
Bureaucracy rules, man…. I suggest you at least attach a handle to the outside of the door. The UK’s gone mad.