Barriers: The Sequel

It’s been a month now that Betty and myself have been together, and like many new relationships we’ve had our ups and downs. Literally. All the same, I’m still as fond of her as I was on day one. A match made in heaven, you might say (I hope she feels the same). Commuting is good, much of the time.

The journey from New Street Station to Millennium Point is reasonably direct: out of the Station front entrance; turn left through the underpass, past M&S, turn right past La Tour, over the road (dodging the pedestrians, the cars and the buses), down the Eastside Park, past the fountains and into Millennium Point – journey time: approximately 7 – 8 minutes.

Getting into Millennium Point, though, has minor challenges (depending on how one approaches the task). There’s automatic doors, you see. Three of them. If one is skillful, one can get all three to open – like dominoes, one after the other. The real trick is to get the far one open, without the first two triggering. This is a little trickier, but is achievable with practice. Then one is met with three more ‘air-lock’ doors. Again, the same applies.

After this, there is the slowest lift in the world. Not that it travels slowly – that would be too simple. No. This fella is one of those lifts that, no matter what time you get to it; it is just left and on it’s way up. To the highest floor. So we wait. And wait some more (by which time a crowd has gathered) and then the lift arrives. Occasionally, there is a Singapore Scrum, where the crowd by-passes the traditional UK sport of queuing, and barge past Betty and me, get in the lift, leaving very little room for us to enter. So we wait. Some more.

Eventually, we get to the second floor and make our way to the reception. More barriers. These ones, however, are more temperamental. In order for them to open, one has to show the magnetic pass to the reader, upon which the barriers will open. Unless you (or someone else, opposite) triggers the safety sensors. In which case they simply blink red - like some sort of alarm that shouts:

“YOU’RE TOO CLOSE. GET BACK. YOU’RE INVADING MY PERSONAL SPACE!!!”

This indicates more hassle, because now you have to lean right over and run your pass across the reader on the OTHER SIDE of the barriers, trigger the red flashing gates, step back and have another go. With a bicycle, the mission is critical.

Then, there’s the heavy doors on the way to the staff room door (which also has a security latch). Two of them. One that is a normal opening door, and one that beckons you to, once again, wave your magic wallet in front of it and, Hey, Presto!! It releases the door lock. You still have to pull on the door for it to open, so it’s not as fun as the reception barriers or automatic doors at the front of the building - especially if you happen to catch the pedal on the door on the way in, whilst negotiating the seemingly small aperture, that someone, somewhere, thought would be an appropriate size for entering the room.

Then we’re at the desk. Phew.

All in all, the simple one-way commute to the desk is met with about eighteen different physical barriers (if you include, the garage door to get the bike, the two front doors to get out the house and the train doors – which I have). No wonder I’m knackered when I arrive, boss.