Secondhand Sunday

Sundays are my Secondhand day. I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I re-post a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


"Is chivalry dead?"

Original Post Date, February 25, 2010

I'm about as independent as they come. I kill my own spiders, mow my own lawn and clean my own sink trap.

You heard that right.

I know what a sink trap is and I know how to clean it.

While I'm proud that I can take care of myself, I do appreciate small chivalrous acts. Just like the art of the compliment, boys, these simple things go a long way. And not just for your wife or girlfriend. Even perfect strangers will inwardly swoon at your respect for all females.

Since I work in a large hospital with a multitude of elevators, elevator etiquette is probably my biggest pet peeve.



Now, I understand that on occasion, there are emergencies that would necessitate a man running out of the elevator before me but, c'mon, they don't happen every day.

Here's the rule. Women exit first. The end.

Depending on the time of day that I get to work, I may run into the Russian professor who has a penchant for vests and elbow patch jackets.

"You look so nice today. The pearls are a nice touch," he'll say, as he holds the door open for me.

Or the nice, young resident who offered to carry boxes out for me when he saw me struggling.

Then there's THIS guy.

"Mister It's All About Me"

I began seeing him about a week ago. The first time was when we both started walking toward the double glass doors that lead you to the elevator on the roof of the parking garage.

I saw him glance back at me as he reached the door but he ignored the fact that I was nearly on his heels and let the door shut on me. I mumbled a "thank you very much" under my breath when I stepped inside.

He responded in some foreign tongue pretending he had no grasp of English, much like Akio Toyoda did in the Congressional hearings today. I'm sure both of these clowns could probably teach English as a second language.

To add more insult, when we descended the 8 floors to street level, he rushed past me to exit the elevator as I stood there, incredulous once more. And he's done this elevator bolt three more times in the last week.

That's not how you do it, "Mister It's All About Me."

Today, I got to the elevator before him. He was still a distance away but I kept looking back at him as I pounded on the down button.

"Hurry! Hurry!", I yelled to the elevator as I turned around again, feeling like a bank robber fleeing the po-po.

He was gaining ground when he dropped his keys.

Score!

"Hurry! Hurry, goddamn you!!" My heart pounded faster as I watched the numbers light up in succession.

4.....5.....6.....7....8!

As the door opened, I rushed inside and hit 1.

Close! Close!, I shouted in my head, as I saw him coming through the doors, waving his arm.

"Hold the elevator!", he shouted.

I leaned forward as the doors were almost closed, "Qué?"

And THAT'S how you do it, "Mister It's All About Me."