Walking across Loyola, I've noticed that students prefer blocking doorways to allowing assorting people (that is to say, ME) to pass through. Good grief- it's a door. I'd have to think that congregating in front of it rather defeats its reason for existence. The idea is to walk through it (shocking, I know), not to form clusters glorying in the splendor of standing in front of it. But maybe I'm just missing something big; maybe it's a new pagan trend:
His followers refuse the honor of walking through, instead preferring to clump on one side or the other, contemplating their meager existences in comparison to the magnificence of being a door.
Elevators aren't much better. Not only is there a door, but it OPENS AND SHUTS of its own volition. This, evidently, merits entirely new techniques of self-prostration. Widely known is the moronic "hitting-the-elevator-button-8-times-will-make-it-come-8-times-faster" strain of thought. This has become even more celebrated since the elevator buttons no longer light, allowing each and every person waiting for the elevator to smack the button, proclaiming just how much they value the intelligence of the six people that were waiting in front of them. Not only do you get to appease the elevator god, you get to impress others with your take on their mental abilities-- and everyone knows that there is nothing quite like insulting strange people with whom you will be spending time in a small, enclosed space.
In addition to the aforementioned button-whacking, there are other, less celebrated, techniques. For instance, once followers have conquered their initial reluctancy to pass through the portal, they like to flaunt it, charging into elevators before its passengers have an opportunity to exit. Those plastered against the walls by such people are so impressed by this that they can only but glower, wishing that they were that cool (and that the walls had been cleaned after last week's projectile vomiting incident).
Others long to share the grandeur of the self-automated door, kindly pressing each and every button on the elevator panel, serving as door evangelists for the inhabitants of the upper floors. Not only will these dwellers get to gaze in awe at the ability of a door to control itself, they get to do it up to ten times. Or, seeking to impress others with their mastery of the elevator door, Doorians press the "Door Close" button, and then leave the elevator, daring the door to close on them. Strangely enough, the eletronic device to prevent such an event WORKS, and they manage to escape unscathed, leaving behind them an elevator full of others amazed at their utter bravery.
Not that our motor skill savvy is any greater once the obstacle of a door is removed. It's necessary to invent new ways to convey limited environmental sensitivity, now without the benefit of a door to work with. HMMmm. Think I'll stand directly in the path of the person seated behind me and slooooooowly put on my backpack as class ends, flailing my arms in random directions to completely crush any aspirations they ever had of walking around me. That could work.
And then there's the nifty addition of a merge lane on the Charleston side of the bridge, which has really spiced things up for pedestrians, allowing them all the advantages of a highway, only without the protective two tons of steel. Students choosing the stairs over the ramp have the joy of attempting to re-enter ramp traffic without being mowed down on their left or trampled from behind ("No, really, I'm fine; my spine has always protruded in that direction. Could you hand me my spleen? Thanks.").
No- wait- forget merely cutting others off, why don't I stand at the very top of the stairs with three of my friends so that no one can pass me from either direction?
It must be nice to have that kind of oblivion to reality. To be able to chat idly with your friends while the thirty people whose path you're blocking are silently planning homicide amongst themselves. I wouldn't know- I'm one of the thirty.
ANGST. AAAaaangst. Just once I would like to be able to leave class from Maryland Hall without playing the human equivalent of Frogger on the quad. And while there is nothing quite like clinging tenaciously to the edge of the bridge because a group of people walking five abreast refuse to break formation, I can live without the resulting SHEER TERROR.
The way I figure it, we can take 'em. All it requires is the creative exploitation of the aforementioned tendencies of Door followers for purposes counter their original intent. (Or, you could become a Door-atheist and wreak havoc. Your choice.) Gather your fellow unDoors and start your own line, preferably near an open doorway. Watch the Doorians line up, driven by an inborn compulsion to cluster. Eventually, your presence will become superfluous, and you can walk off feigning disgust, allowing the Doorian behind you to eagerly advance into your place. Assuming this is simultaneously carried out throughout Loyola, the unDoors will be free to roam the campus, stopping wherever we want, without the inconvenience of others being there first.