A Jester in the King's Court

Topic: Distance

Ok, so we all know that the work place is basically a bastion of awkward happenings. There’s the meaningless office banter, which I should write on one day because its beautiful…I mean, when you ask someone how they’re doing and they say, “I’m doin’” and give a laugh…what does that even mean? And then you feel forced to respond with something equally awkward.

However, not what I’m writing about today. Today is the more awkward situation of trying to adjudicate how far away someone has to be in order for you to hold the door open for them. I hate this. And I hate this on both ends. If I’m 3 or 4 steps behind you and you hold the door open, I’m grateful…but when we have a few yards between us…let that door close my friend. See, because when someone holds a door open, if you don’t reciprocate the kindness by walking faster, you look like a jerk. I hate that! So now, the door holder has thrust speed walking upon you as though you were their manservant, and it is expected that you will thank them for it when you get through the door; the door, which might require the amount of force to open that I can muster up in my pinky. My pinky….not the strongest of all fingers mind you.

The worse rendition of this is one that confronts me at my job all the time: the door at the top of the stairs. As bothersome as it is to speed walk the last few steps to a door, its worse to make someone do that up the last few stairs. Why….why would anyone do that? How is it polite for a person to hold the door open and then look at you and basically say, “C’mon…I got things to do so hustle”? This frustration has actually led to me slowing my walk to an amble if someone is about 10 paces in front of me as we approach the stairs. By slowing my walk, I assure that there will be plenty of space between myself and the potential door opener that I shouldn’t have even come into their periphery when they get to the door, and I can walk the steps in piece. The blessed piece of a man not forced to run up stairs in a polo shirt and slacks at the behest of a socially obligated do-gooder.

That being said…if my hands are full? I don’t care where I am…that door stays open and you just have to wait doorman….you just have to wait.