The Door

The Door ©

By 

Michael Casey

The door wasn’t even there, I couldn’t even see it, I had always hoped that somebody 

would opened the door. But how could a door be opened if it did not even exist?

Then by a series of random events I found I’d passed through the door, and I was 

somewhere else, somewhere totally unexpected. I have a  photo  of me standing up 

and presenting, at the time I felt that was a dream, a hope, an “if only” and the photo 

must now be 20 years old. 

Concierge duties have prepared me for presenting duties, the major difference is that 

now I have a whiteboard behind me. The talk is a bit different, much more important 

now, but the fun is the same, the standing up is the same.  The sore feet still part of 

the territory, but the door has been opened and I’ve past through it.

So how has this happened? Is it magic? Is it prayer? Is it luck? Perhaps its God’s luck.

I did once dream of a dirty white door, but now instead I’ve passed through an 

invisible  door, I’ve reached my dream, only 20 years after the dream began. Perhaps

I’m a really heavy sleeper,  and like Rip Van Wrinkle I’ve awoken, only to find 

myself where I’ve wanted to be, standing up in front of a whiteboard talking  and 

getting paid for it.

I haven’t made the bestsellers list, that’s an even longer dream, probably even beyond 

God’s magic, beyond Hope beyond Reason. But I am a good at waiting, very good at 

waiting indeed, perhaps even better than a pregnant woman, I’m watching the sands 

of Time  fall and maybe just maybe another door will open without me noticing it. 

Then before I retire I will be the latest new thing, the latest new writer, and with  the 

help of God and two policemen I’ll sell more books than Dan Brown.

Attachment: Shoplife.pdf