The Day Harv Came Out of the Closet

(Reposted from a previously published diary.)

I met the head of building maintenance today. I was getting my usual cup of coffee when a nearby door opened. I turned to see a small man walking my direction. His blue work trousers and a logo-emblazoned shirt set him apart from the normal office crew. "Hello, I'm D.B. Sweet," I said, thrusting out my hand and taking his.

"Nice to meet you," he said in a reserved tone. "I'm Harv."

"Oh yes, Harv. You're the man that keeps this place running."

"I suppose I do. At least I try to." Harv turned around and opened up a pair of closet doors. I returned to finish pouring my coffee.

One thing I have found interesting in our building is that most of the interior doors are very difficult to open. They are regular sized doors, but the automatic closing mechanisms seemed to have been adjusted by a gorilla. As a result, most people tend to hit the doors with their shoulders and use their body weight to get the beastly things open. Anyway, the closet in which Harv was rummaging was positioned directly in the swinging path of one of these gorilla-adjusted doors.

I had just put my cup down to wipe up the counter when I heard a squeak, followed by a bang, and accented with a muffled groan. I turned to see Bob, the credit analyst, standing next to the half-open door, and I realized that Harv was nowhere to be seen. Bob looked at me questioningly, but before I could say anything, he pushed once again against the seemingly blocked door. Another groan was followed by what sounded vaguely like a curse word, and Bob finally peered around the edge of the door. I heard Bob gasp, and then, he slowly backed up, allowing the door to close. There was poor Harv. Obviously, he had been standing in front of the closet when Bob tried to make his entrance. The first door struck the closet door which hit Harv and sent him flying into the closet. Harv was picking himself up as calmly as he could, given the fact that he had just become intimate with a mop bucket and was now wearing what looked like a bank banner from years gone by.

"Harv?" I asked with genuine concern. "Are you okay?" Harv grumbled and threw the banner off to the side. Bob cracked the door open.

"Do I need to call someone?" he asked, his face red with embarrassment.

"Just don't open the &*^% door for a second." Harv seemed to be moving well, and I was sure any further offer of assistance would not be well received. Harv crawled out of the closet and headed out the opposite door muttering a string of uncomplimentary adjectives. I opened the door and told Bob that the coast was clear.

I just got back from getting my last cup of coffee for the day. I couldn't help but laugh as I read the hand-scrawled note taped on the door, "Open SLOWLY."