Size matters

Any non-driving co-worker who has attempted to enter the building where I work through the front door with a briefcase, a backpack, or their canoe will know the thoughts that follow.

A couple of days ago, I stepped into one of these security devices carrying my backpack. I don't carry much in my backpack. Some papers, my reduced-size German laptop. It's quite portable. The doors are a bi-directional revolving door. I am supposed to fit into one quarter of it as I enter or exit. Just entering into it is not enough. One is asked to coordinate a scan of one's security badge, mounted on the outside of the revolving door, while stepping inside to the one-quarter space. I can do this quickly as I step in, or I can step in and reach around, quickly retracting my arm before it is chewed off. This time, a couple of days ago, it just about got chewed off, luckily only bruised like a bottom-of-the-crate apple.

Now, most people who live and work in Switzerland are quite fit. Most are very attractive, very distinguished, polished. So to see me fold into one of these things, reach around for the scan, and then take 50 tiny baby steps until the door completes its one-quarter turn, now that's a sight. But to see me get chewed up and spit out on the other end like a side of beef becoming a hamburger, that's worth the CHF 8 for the Quarter-Turner With Cheese.

her: You should call that post "Size matters"
me: Hm.
her: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... I'm so funny, I should be writing your blog.