Are you a boob?

This morning in the lobby of the office building in which I work, the elevator door closed on me while the other passengers stood there watching. It didn’t squish the life out of me by any means - just momentarily mashed my shoulder and my briefcase and made me look silly and prompted me to loudly clear my throat and jam the button for the 2nd floor very firmly and loudly with a stiffly pointed finger.

As the door just started to close again a straggler came rushing through the lobby toward us. Being Mr. Fast-Action Man, I hit the ‘door-open’ button and held it while the door about-faced and rushed open again. I moved to the side while I held the button and turned cheerily to the other passengers. It was a sort of Vanna White impersonation.

‘Look, boys and girls!’ my posture and expression silently told them. ‘This is how you press the door-open button and not squish the shit out of your friendly office neighbor!’

After the straggler lady entered the car I continued to hold the button - and my Vanna White posture - for a few additional seconds, just to be sure everyone was looking at me and learning a little lesson and most importantly - feeling silly. You see, if you’re gonna make me look silly, you’re damn well gonna join me.

Unfortunately this happens to me very frequently.

In the mornings there’s usually a bit of a crowd gathered by the time one of the elevator cars arrives to gobble us up and whisk us off to our respective cube farms. I generally wait until everyone else enters first. This is because I work on the second floor and will therefore be the first one off the elevator. Last on. First off. This saves us all a whole lot of reshuffling later. Not being a boob, I’ve figured out clever things like that.

But I’d estimate approximately 90% of my office neighbors, sadly, are boobs. They don’t understand that when they push a floor-button it triggers the elevator door to close after a short delay and that if they are an eager beaver and need to push their floor button ever-so-immediately upon entering that they then must hold the door-open button, assuming of course they prefer not to squish anyone. Now, perhaps they do prefer to do some squishing. Perhaps their failing marriages are bringing out a little misplaced passive aggressiveness.

Am I describing you? If so then yes, you’re an office boob. Don’t cry. Don’t call up your councilor. I’m not mad at you. You can be easily cured. Just learn from your mistakes.

Do you wait directly in front of an elevator door and try to rush in at the moment it opens only to discover that there are outbound passengers waiting to disembark? They have the right of way of course - and you - are a boob.

Do you approach the glass lobby doors at the same time an office neighbor approaches from the other side and despite the door opening in your direction, you go through the door first, instead of holding it open for your neighbor? If so, what are you? That’s right. A boob. You must learn that the placement of the door hinges dictates who shall hold the door. Gender, by the way, has nothing to do with it. Whether you possess a penis or vagina, it is safely tucked in your pants and shall not come in to play in such an encounter. Hopefully.

Here’s the danger zone. Do you go through the door first - in the circumstances described above and then, realizing your mistake, reach back through the threshold, trying to hold the door open for the other guy, meanwhile blocking his way? This is a much bigger problem. When super-boobs do this to me I just stand there and look at them with the blankest of expressions until they give up and walk away.

If this is you, you may be a little beyond boobdom. You may need to get your EyeQ tested and see if perhaps you should be spending more time in the care of others and receiving a monthly cheque from the government. Sorry to break it to you.

FWG