The Tale of Door

Once upon a time in Chicago, there was a very strong metal door named Door. He started out as a young punk rocker in the 70’s, opening up for some of the more famous punk venues.

One night, he held his own against a crazed Ramones crowd trying to force their way in. He grasped his hinges tightly and refused to let go. Later that night Joey Ramone bumped into him and apologized as Door held him from collapsing. His perseverance paid off and he survived intact.

Night after night, band after band, Door held up so well, did such a good job, but felt he was missing out on other opportunities. He wanted to see more of the world, and moved to LA. When he got there, he had no idea that he would play such a pivotal role in the L.A. glam metal scene. Door arrived with no friends and no family. His mom was a furnace in Chicago, she was busy popping out his siblings, and his father had walked out before Door had his first striker. He was glad to be on his own.

One night, Door got a job at Gazzarri’s on the Sunset Strip. He was so excited that he forgot to oil his hinges, which resulted in him developing a loud squeak. He didn’t have time to fix it and just tried to ignore the drunken glares. A band played that night and he swears to this day they stole his name. Yeah, they added an “S” onto the end, but he knew deep down his dry hinges had made his name memorable.

Over the years, he witnessed so much cocaine usage, clouds of it stuck to his once-shiny trim; so much so that he developed a nasty coke habit. He resorted to tripping people to steal their baggies.

One evening in 1981 few will forget. Door caused Nikki Sixx to trip and hit his head so hard, Nikki decided to leave his band London. He then went on to form the band Mötley Crüe. Door barely remembers his historical achievement, however, as he’d been too hopped up to notice.

Door cleaned up eventually, retiring to a nice country town away from the bustle of city life. He is now the front door to a small health clinic. He still recognizes those gracing his threshold who once wore Mohawks and piercings, having traded the rocker life for the walker life. He says he doesn’t regret anything and is proud of his legacy.

Published by karaluna

Kara was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, in a tiny town, Sequim, Wa. The closest mall was two and a half hours away in Silverdale, Seattle a ferryboat ride away. She spent her childhood playing in the woods, exploring her imagination, and learning to be a mechanic from her father. Creative writing was always an outlet. She started a career as a motorcycle mechanic, to later find she wanted to try something else. After several career changes, she finds herself yet again on the road with only the journey ahead. She writes whenever she can. She has been published in her previous work’s newsletter, The Healthy Heron.

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