The door and its Door Keeper recognize the 1950s decor of Jim’s Gas. The subtle buzz of the fluorescent light fixtures. The shelves that are stocked with a strange assortment of items; it remembers some of the things. Others are strange objects that it can’t figure out the purpose of ‘why would anyone need toilet paper?’ it thinks to itself.
Josh Gas watches the door from behind his counter. He pretends to be organizing the register. But he is mostly trying to figure out what to do with a door from the Oval Office that just appeared in his gas station. As he watches the door, a hand the color of midnight reaches out and yanks a bag of popcorn off the shelf and drags it behind the thick wooden door. He watches it with his eyebrows raised. He can hear the sound of crushing teeth.
The door blinks and now is behind the register. The bag of popcorn hits the floor as it realizes there is a human 10 feet from it. “Oh no,” it whispers.
“What can I get you today, stranger?” Josh says in a sympathetic voice. The door makes rustling noises. Josh sits on the stool behind the register and just organizes the register some more. “Well, when you’re ready to settle up for the popcorn, just let me know, ok?” He goes back to what he was doing; his stomach rumbles, and he makes himself a roller dog.
The door watches as the human grabs a hotdog roll and puts the overcooked hotdog in the bun with ketchup, relish, mayo, mustard, and onion. The dog is soon dwarfed by the toppings. “Yeah, that’s how I like it,” the strange human says as he takes a big bite. ‘What would that taste like? Is hot?” It searches back through its long, long life looking for a time it has had hot food. There have been times when he has eaten things that were warm from the sun but never intentionally hot food.
The door to the gas station opens, and Josh sets his hotdog down on a napkin and smiles at the lifeguard. “Are you here to pick up more sunblock?” Josh asks as he starts walking into the back room.
“Yeah, the usual case should do for the week,” the lifeguard says. He leans over the counter and grabs one of the roller dogs and eats it.
The door watches as the human brings the case of sunblock out and sets it on the counter. The lifeguard hands the human a wad of paper, grabs the case of sunblock, and leaves.
The door watches as the human whistles and puts the money in the register. It turns and looks at him again, “And now what are we going to do with you?”
“Do nothing, nothing,” the door keeper yells. “Leave me alone; just leave me be,” it begs. It grabs the doorknob and squeezes it hard for comfort.
Josh watches the door with curiosity. “Yeah, that’s fine. You don’t mind if I eat, do you?” Josh picks up his hotdog and continues eating the now cold food. He frowns.
The door opens a little bit more, and a flat shadow person peers at him from the gap between the door and the door casing. “Give me a hot dog?” It questions somehow looking hopeful despite not having a visible mouth or eyebrows. Or ears, or frankly anything other than a vaguely humanoid shape with a pair of eyes.
“One hotdog coming up, everything on it?” he asks the strange visitor, clicking the tongs suggestively.
“Yes, yes, everything, please,” the door keeper says.
Josh whips up a good hotdog with all the fixings, just like his grandfather had started doing over a hundred years ago. He finishes and reaches out to hand the dog to the door. But as he draws close, the door vanishes in an instant. “What the heck, how did you do that?” he asks the blank section of wall.
The door keepers breathing slows down. It finds itself inside Josh Gas’s small 3-room apartment upstairs. “Yes, I want the hot dog.” It concentrates and jumps again, finding itself in the women’s bathroom. It jumps again, finding itself inside the freezer. It jumps again, now outside the gas station, looking at the large propane tank that fuels the building in the winter. “One more jump, yes, one more.” It focuses and jumps again, finding itself back where it started. “Give me a hot dog,” it asks Josh, “but leave it on the ground; I’ll pick it up.”
Josh blinks as the door returns to reality in an instant. He had set the hot dog down on the counter but picks it up and sets it in front of the door. This version of the door looks like it belongs in a restaurant, and it’s true that’s where it came from, a place called Paradiso in NYC.
Josh turns his back to the door and flips through the small stack of DVDs. On the counter, “It’s going to get slow soon. Most people visit around noon. Want to watch a movie later?”
The Door Keeper snags the hot dog and devours it. The layers of condiments of all flavor profiles are overwhelming but delightful. “Dog is good. Is the movie good?” the voice asks, coveting the last of the hotdog.
“Some movies are good, some aren’t, and some are spicy.” Josh Gas says, looking through the stack again. “How about an action movie? Nah, you look like someone who likes a good romance. Action romance? What about smut?”
“What is smut?” The Door Keeper asks, confused, This is the single longest conversation it has ever had with a corporeal being. ‘The hot dog was delicious. Maybe if I let it explain this smut, it will let me eat more hot dogs.’
“You know, it’s like. Well, it. Sometimes you’re just not quite. I am honestly not sure how to explain smut.” He shrugs. “Maybe you just have to see it to understand?”
“Like hotdogs, can I have another hot dog?” the Door Keeper asks.
Josh makes two more hotdogs and sets them on the counter for the Door Keeper to grab when Josh turns his back. “So, uh, how do you feel about dwarves?”
