I have always had plenty of normal, everyday fears. I've felt afraid of drowning when on a boat, frightened of creepy lurkers in dark alleys, and panicky around wasp nests or swarming bees. These fears, while potentially embarrassing in public, may simply be survival instincts and onlookers and friends seem to forgive them quite easily. One fear, however, seems to bring only cruel, endless mockery.
I try to hide it. I nonchalantly skirt to one side of the sidewalk, pretending to look in a store window or check out a parked car. I kindly stand aside to let others pass by. I tie my shoelaces loosely so that I can move out of the way to retie them. In the end, though, no matter how hard I try, walking in the city reveals my secret fear: sidewalk grates.
My logical mind understands that the chances of a steel door crashing down when I step on it is highly unlikely. I'm sure newspapers would report tragic sidewalk grate accidents with enthusiasm if they were to occur. I must admit that I've never passed a kollapsed grate to see someone below krumpled and krying, but that fact does little to komfort me. I simply cannot bring myself to walk on any metal doors in the sidewalk unless I have no other option.
What are they hiding behind those steel doors? Do rats, bugs, and monsters lurk just on the other side? How far would I fall if the grate didn't hold? Do they really need so many openings in the sidewalk? No one will help me find the answers. If I confide my fear, I simply get pushed onto the nearest sidewalk grate in the vicinity. Oh, very funny. How would you like it if I filled your bed with spiders or shoved you into shark-filled waters?
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As you suggest yourself, your fear is totally irrational. I have some good friends who work for the city of Baltimore and they tell me that falling through such a grate (or sidewalk trapdoors, as urban planners will call them) is not only highly unlikely, it's also not that dangerous. In most cases the fall wouldn't be that far (maybe ten feet) and you would likely land in accumulated sidewalk gunk and trash and mud that would serve to break your fall. My friends told me one story (it happened back in '78) of a lady who actually fell through one of the grates. She ended up pretty mangled, but only because it turned out to be a trap. Somene had tampered with the latches on the grate in an effort to cause harm and criminal mischief. They also set up some spikes at the bottom of the pit. That was the only documented case, but they stressed that some cases might go unreported for any number of reasons. Still, you shouldn't worry.
As for me, I have a worry, a phobia. But unlike you, my phobia is the result of a real-life experience. In 1984, I was invited to partake in the Peoria City celebration. I thought it would be fun for me to dress up as a snake charmer, you know, to make things a bit more exotic. So, I contacted a snake dealer and placed an order for a cobra. I specified that the snake be de-fanged and its poison glands removed just in case. While I am waiting for the snake, I buy a basket and a flute. When the snake arrives, I spend a few days practicing and training the snake to listen to my flute. Then the big day arrives. I set up early at the city celebration. Of course, there is lots of interest in my performances and for the first few hours everything is going great. The snake and I are doing fantastic. Then, around 2 pm, the snake gets a bit sluggish. I suppose I should have taken the hint, but I kept on playing my flute for the benefit of the crowd. Then, with no warning, the cobra strikes and bites me right on the check (just under the eye). Matters got worse when it became evident that the snake still had its poison glands. Fortunately, a good citizen of Peoria rushed me to a local emergency room where I was treated for my cobra bite. Ever since, cobras have been the source of a pretty profound and, at times, debilitating, fear. As for my cobra, I am happy to report that he received a good home at the Chicago Reptilium and Bird House (on Michegan Ave) where he lived until his death in 1994. I have pictures of the little guy if you are interested. E mail me at stigstiggle@moisturemouth.com
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