The building I work in has several entryways, both for the general public and for employees, who have access via badges. This confuses enough of the public that the employee entryway gets clogged occasionally with the badgeless and befuddled. (Ain’t this a free country? Why can’t I use any door I want?)
This morning, as a stylish young woman (bobbed hair died black, a sort of office presentable gothic look with two-tone black and blue cats-eye glasses) (bear in mind, I’m color blind, so they may actually have been aquamarine and charcoal or some such) arrived about the same time I did, and after we pointed the unwashed citizenry toward the much larger front entryway with “PUBLIC ACCESS” painted in bold white letters on the glass doors, she held our door open for me.
This momentarily discombobulated me.
Without thinking, I gracelessly said, “oh, no” and held my right arm high to catch the door as I waved my left hand Vanna White style toward our portal: door number two, employee access.
She curtly nodded with a straight smile, entered and beeped her way into the atrium, and I followed her to the elevator lobby, where we waited for the next vertical carriage to another day of officious industry.
“You know,” I caught her eye and smiled as we got on the elevator. “I’m not sure why I did that. I’m wondering if I’m old-fashioned.”
She looked at me, smiling half-quizzically, so I continued, “I mean, it was nice of you to open the door, so why not just walk through?” I tossed my hands up, a gesture for “hm?” or maybe “duh” in handspeak.
She laughed at that and said, “My boss always opens the door for me. It got to the point where I’m walking in front of people.”
We might have carried on about manners, old-fashioned and new, and what it means to be ladies and gentlemen and co-workers in the 21st century, but we had arrived at my floor.
It was, indeed, time for me to go through the door before her.
“Have a good day,” I wished her over my shoulder. “Have a great morning,” she answered, and off I went to the blinking monitor, the stacks of paper, and my framed photos of loved ones smiling from al fresco settings beyond the genteel doorways.
I’m pleased to note that you enjoy and share with me the trait that some people call the affliction ‘colour blindness’. I would like to point out a little feature of said trait. Most people have three bits of colour information steadily flowing from their eyes into their brains. Those who are ‘colour blind’ have less. This frees up their brain for other things such as thinking.
Of course, that has nothing to do with doors. That’s the way my comments often work. Here’s a little something about doors: I don’t like those rotating door things. I like the kind that open and are much less likely to crush one.
Hmmm, why didn’t you just walk in? Perhaps something to explore there. (smile)
I open the door for people all the time. It was something my dad did for everyone, and I do it by habit. But I also walk through if someone holds the door open for me. My husband is a door holder, too. I like that about him. It is old-fashioned and something I hope we never lose.
Bongo — I’ll try to bear that in mind. Which is, I suppose, where it was being kept already, I just hadn’t noticed.
The only advantage to color blindness I had heard of before pertained to WW1 pilots, as observers, who supposedly were less susceptible to green camouflage because they didn’t see the color, anyway.
ybonesy, the odd thing is, even when a friend holds the door open for me, it feels a bit weird. I mean, we can be caught up in conversation, simply navigating our physical world, they get to the door handle first, pull it back and, mid-sentence, motion for me to go through, and it feels strange to me. I don’t know why.
Saul Bellow has a brief passage in a book where he asks, ‘why do the standing secretly terrify the sitting?’ and it’s a bit like that.
Yeah. I’ve heard that one too. I think it isn’t really an advantage. I certainly wouldn’t want to find myself as a WWI pilot though perhaps the perk of getting access to a time machine would be worth it.
‘Old fashioned’ is a pretty fitting adjective for ‘charming’ and ‘lovely’.
I always hold doors for people. In fact, I walk ahead when approaching an entrance just so I can. I think it was something my father browbeat into me growing up.
Thanks, Amuirin! And Stevo, I’m with you. In a world all too often causic and unkind, sometimes the little things do make a diffrence.
I’m curious, do you ever notice who holds doors open for whom in China?
Bobbed black hair is the prettiest on a round face.
I think I know what you mean. Still, there should be a book somewhere on this, the hair/head esthetic, with different facial / head types, and various opinions on which haircuts or styles look best on each.