Up On the Roof - Is Where I'm Not

I was so excited.

Yesterday, I heard that the roof garden would be open for the season starting today. This information came to me from a reliable source in the building who’d already seen the upgrades which had been wrought - and believe me, there were improvements needed.

Anyway, though I was in a rather delirious state (‘delirious’ might be a tad too strong a word, considering I’m suffering only from the affects of a cold in the nose - but sometimes, hey, these things must be played up), 

I resolved to leave my sickbed and journey up to The Hanging Gardens of Carlton, to see for myself, what had been done.

I crawled from my chamber and dressed as best I could, under the circumstances - I figured pyjamas were not appropriate attire for leaving the home unit and donned a kaftan, which is not exactly pyjamas or a bathrobe, though in appearance, the mistake could be made - but for the fact that there is a water feature on the roof and therefore my attire might not seem out of place - emphasis on the 'might'.

I made my way to the elevator and took the long, arduous journey up the remaining 6 floors and found myself in the hallway leading to the garden.

But.

My way was blocked.

There was security detail in place.

I did not think this a hindrance since ‘my source’ had managed to get through - and he has no more special access privileges than I - at least, that’s what I thought.

I started making my way to the stairwell which leads to the roof, when a gruff voice shouted, “Halt!” (Okay, he might not have shouted “Halt!” - and the voice might have been something quite different from ‘gruff’ - but it might as well have been for the effect it had on me.)

I turned to find the security detail rapidly approaching and, hard to believe, stepping directly into my path, preventing access to the egress!

“Hello!”, I said - “Charmed, I’m sure!” and I gave him a winning smile (I figured a little oil on the squeak would make my passage easier.).

But there was no ‘charming’ this hardened military type; he was there to stand guard - and should some innocent (such as myself) come along (kaftan or no) and make towards the roof, he would prevent them; he would only be doing what he had been ordered; he would only be doing his duty, should it become necessary to intervene - and intervene he did.

He would not let me pass!

I pleaded, I cajoled, I did a few card tricks, I cartwheeled down the hallway for his entertainment (quite the show, in a kaftan), but he would not be moved.

I thought of a million things I might say in order to either gain access to the roof, or failing that, offend him so deeply with my cutting and pithy remarks, as to draw blood.

However, given my state of delirium (particularly after the cartwheeling…), the only thing I managed to do, whilst adjusting my kaftan which had hiked itself up and become twisted,  was utter a weak “Oh, okay.”, to his refusals, and sheepishly made my way back to the elevator to await my 2nd descent of the day - the 1st, of course, being that which I suffered ego-wise, when my ‘charming banter’ fizzled and died like a soggy firecracker.

Once, safely ensconced in the home unit, I pondered the event for a moment or 2 and decided that indeed, it must have been my cold that caused his reaction - for in all honesty - who could possible resist my wiles, I ask you!?

(actual responses are not necessary…)