For the first eighteen years of my life I was blissfully unaware of the need for security. Until I left home in 1967 I’d never felt the need to carry a key or think of finding a locked door. Since all my neighbours were relatives and grew up with my parents and my parent’s parents even the act of knocking on a door was foreign to me, one simply opened the door and walked in. A far cry from neighbours and friends in a modern city whom visiting involves calling first and making prior arrangements for a visit. My parents did not grow up with phones or even electricity. Homes were built on hills so that neighbours could see each others lamplight and know everything was okay. The front porch door was hooked to indicate the residents had retired for the night, the back door which led to the outhouse was never locked unless everyone went away for an extended period of time and with cows to milk every 12 hours that was rare indeed.
Contrast that with my life today. On a country farm the key to the family car is likely to be found either in the ignition or the trunk lock. Closing my car involves arming the security system. Going for the mail involves locking my front door after I leave the apartment, the door is never left open at any time, taking the elevator down to the main floor and walking down four flights of stairs, a quarter-mile walk usually outside after exiting the building, two more entrance doors one locked, unlocking the mailbox and relocking it, then throwing away the junk mail. Most of what I receive. The return journey involves two exit doors, another walk across the parking lot, another set of entrance doors, one locked, a wait for the elevator, and unlocking my house door. Visiting my storage locker involves my house door, 5 storeys by elevator, a locked corridor, my locker key, finding an overhead pull-string light, then the reverse journey. Getting to my underground parking involves the same elevator ride and two sets of doors with a cramped interlock room. Entering or exiting the garage involves activating a self retracting garage door weighing two tons, two steep ramps, and a series of tunnels designed by an architect who obviously rode a bike and never owned a car.
Contrast that with my life today. On a country farm the key to the family car is likely to be found either in the ignition or the trunk lock. Closing my car involves arming the security system. Going for the mail involves locking my front door after I leave the apartment, the door is never left open at any time, taking the elevator down to the main floor and walking down four flights of stairs, a quarter-mile walk usually outside after exiting the building, two more entrance doors one locked, unlocking the mailbox and relocking it, then throwing away the junk mail. Most of what I receive. The return journey involves two exit doors, another walk across the parking lot, another set of entrance doors, one locked, a wait for the elevator, and unlocking my house door. Visiting my storage locker involves my house door, 5 storeys by elevator, a locked corridor, my locker key, finding an overhead pull-string light, then the reverse journey. Getting to my underground parking involves the same elevator ride and two sets of doors with a cramped interlock room. Entering or exiting the garage involves activating a self retracting garage door weighing two tons, two steep ramps, and a series of tunnels designed by an architect who obviously rode a bike and never owned a car.
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