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OP-ED: Please Don’t Hold the Door for Me I’m Like 30 Feet Away


Photo by Maya Kreger

Color me frustrated because every building I walk into these days has a self-appointed doorman with something to prove. 

Do you want to see me pick up the pace and do an awkward little run up the VP steps? Do you like that? What kind of narcissistic, fear-mongering, love-hating, little freak are you? I bet it makes you feel strong, like big man of the house. Well, just because we made eye contact when I was by the button and you were entering the library, doesn’t mean you should hold the fucking door. I’m like 30 feet away!

Do I seem ungrateful? Go ahead and sue me because I am. I didn’t ask to look all helpless. I didn’t ask to come into this world holding so many various items in each hand. So, don’t give me a pity door-hold! Just keep walking, and I’ll do the same. Every man for themselves…

Newsflash! I can open doors all by my lonesome. French doors, double doors, the ones on Teslas that don’t have handles somehow, The Doors, sliding glass situations, the little door that leads to the funky other world in Coraline– you name it, I’m opening it. 

Me, I am so strong and so brave and so innately talented. So yeah, I can handle a wide variety of door-openings – unless it’s the one that you have to swipe into like at Houston or Williams then by all means hold the door open because I don’t feel like getting out my PennCard it’s a whole thing thanks polite smile.