Your Right to Common Courtesy
03/30/09 04:23 PM Filed in: Indiscriminate
This post is most
pointedly directed towards the residents of Brock
Hall, but it really applies to anyone. Also, please
understand the heavy sarcasm in the title. You do
not have a
right to
common courtesy. Certain people are gracious to you
and you should be thankful. That doesn’t mean you sit
around expecting people to bring you free food
because you look like you’re hungry.
I was headed over to chat with Kylee, and Dave was on his way over to the SSC. We left the third floor of Brock, heading down the stairs. We got to the main double doors and pushed them open. As I pushed through the first set, I saw two fellow Brockians approaching the building. I had a crucial “yellow-light” decision. Should I stand for a few moments and hold the door for them, or are they far enough away that I should just let the door close and make them unlock it for themselves? They were far enough away that I decided to just keep walking, as did Dave.
As we were a few paces out of the building, we crossed paths with the other gentleman. There were two of them, one of them I know by name (but that’s about all), but both shall remain nameless out of respect. The one I knew sarcastically tossed over his shoulder, “Hey, thanks for holding the door for us, guys.” So, not to be outdone, I sarcastically tossed back, “Hey, you’re welcome!” with a big smile and a wave. Apparently taken aback, and not wanting to lose the last words, the other shouted in a far more desperate tone, “Yah! Thanks for holding it!” Nice comeback. I commend you.
To the first of you: you are extremely pompous.
To the second: you sounded like a desperate five year old who was failing miserably at winning at argument.
This isn’t the first time, nor even the second, that this has happened. I’ve had people sarcastically “burn” me for not holding the door open for them numerous times while leaving Brock, some harsher than others. It’s as if they expect that I owe them something. Look, I don’t want to be rude, but at the same time, with the attitude you’re giving me, why the heck do you think you deserve to have the door held open for you?
A few weeks back I was leaving Brock and a similar situation happened. I walked through both double doors and the student walking towards me moved in front of me to stop me and said, “Really, man? It would take you two extra seconds to stand and hold the door so I wouldn’t have to get my ID out!” To which I replied, “Really, man? It would take you the same two seconds while you’re still walking to get your own ID out.” And I walked around him and on to class.
First of all, logically, if you’re coming back to Brock, you’re probably done with class. You’re most likely not in a hurry. If we’re leaving Brock, it’s more likely we’re actually purposefully headed somewhere, perhaps somewhere we don’t want to be late to. Sure, it’s only two seconds, but it’s the principle of the matter: we’re headed somewhere to participate in an activity, you’re headed back to your dorm to be “off the clock.”
I was sitting in the lounge on the opposite end of Brock once when I heard someone pounding on the doors. Someone had forgotten their ID. There’s a lounge on that side, so me and all my friends assumed someone over there would get the door. Well, no one did. The pounding continued. Finally, someone on that end of the building let the guys in. I say guys because it wasn’t just one guy, it was five. Five guys who either didn’t remember to take their ID with them when they left the building or just didn’t want to reach into their pockets to get it out because they were too lazy. (That last statement actually isn’t too far from the truth. There are guys that do that.) They came to our end of the building, leaning through the doors into the lounge we were all sitting in, and yelled, “Hey, thanks for coming and opening the door for us, guys!” I shouted back, “Hey, thanks for remembering to take your ID with you.”
The thing is, you have every right to not take your ID with you, and you can bank on the fact that someone will open the door for you. But you can’t get upset when someone doesn’t open the door for you. Understand that when we’re sitting in the lounge and we open that door for you, you go upstairs and forget about the whole situation. If we’re sitting in the lounge and everyone does the same thing you do and expects us to open the door for them, we wouldn’t get any work done. That’s why Cedarville gave you an ID, so you could serve yourself.
Next time I’m walking out of Brock and someone tries to slight me with, “Hey, thanks for holding the door for me,” I’ll respond with, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a woman at a conservative Baptist college.” You know. The types where women just stand at the doors and wait for a guy to come hold the door for them. Because it’s not that they’re special and we want to show them we appreciate them, it’s that they deserve to have the door held for them.
Holding the door for you is a favor, not a requirement. Grow up. Honestly, we live in Brock. We’re already pegged with the stereotype of being arrogant idiots. Thanks for stapling that down, guys.
I was headed over to chat with Kylee, and Dave was on his way over to the SSC. We left the third floor of Brock, heading down the stairs. We got to the main double doors and pushed them open. As I pushed through the first set, I saw two fellow Brockians approaching the building. I had a crucial “yellow-light” decision. Should I stand for a few moments and hold the door for them, or are they far enough away that I should just let the door close and make them unlock it for themselves? They were far enough away that I decided to just keep walking, as did Dave.
As we were a few paces out of the building, we crossed paths with the other gentleman. There were two of them, one of them I know by name (but that’s about all), but both shall remain nameless out of respect. The one I knew sarcastically tossed over his shoulder, “Hey, thanks for holding the door for us, guys.” So, not to be outdone, I sarcastically tossed back, “Hey, you’re welcome!” with a big smile and a wave. Apparently taken aback, and not wanting to lose the last words, the other shouted in a far more desperate tone, “Yah! Thanks for holding it!” Nice comeback. I commend you.
To the first of you: you are extremely pompous.
To the second: you sounded like a desperate five year old who was failing miserably at winning at argument.
This isn’t the first time, nor even the second, that this has happened. I’ve had people sarcastically “burn” me for not holding the door open for them numerous times while leaving Brock, some harsher than others. It’s as if they expect that I owe them something. Look, I don’t want to be rude, but at the same time, with the attitude you’re giving me, why the heck do you think you deserve to have the door held open for you?
A few weeks back I was leaving Brock and a similar situation happened. I walked through both double doors and the student walking towards me moved in front of me to stop me and said, “Really, man? It would take you two extra seconds to stand and hold the door so I wouldn’t have to get my ID out!” To which I replied, “Really, man? It would take you the same two seconds while you’re still walking to get your own ID out.” And I walked around him and on to class.
First of all, logically, if you’re coming back to Brock, you’re probably done with class. You’re most likely not in a hurry. If we’re leaving Brock, it’s more likely we’re actually purposefully headed somewhere, perhaps somewhere we don’t want to be late to. Sure, it’s only two seconds, but it’s the principle of the matter: we’re headed somewhere to participate in an activity, you’re headed back to your dorm to be “off the clock.”
I was sitting in the lounge on the opposite end of Brock once when I heard someone pounding on the doors. Someone had forgotten their ID. There’s a lounge on that side, so me and all my friends assumed someone over there would get the door. Well, no one did. The pounding continued. Finally, someone on that end of the building let the guys in. I say guys because it wasn’t just one guy, it was five. Five guys who either didn’t remember to take their ID with them when they left the building or just didn’t want to reach into their pockets to get it out because they were too lazy. (That last statement actually isn’t too far from the truth. There are guys that do that.) They came to our end of the building, leaning through the doors into the lounge we were all sitting in, and yelled, “Hey, thanks for coming and opening the door for us, guys!” I shouted back, “Hey, thanks for remembering to take your ID with you.”
The thing is, you have every right to not take your ID with you, and you can bank on the fact that someone will open the door for you. But you can’t get upset when someone doesn’t open the door for you. Understand that when we’re sitting in the lounge and we open that door for you, you go upstairs and forget about the whole situation. If we’re sitting in the lounge and everyone does the same thing you do and expects us to open the door for them, we wouldn’t get any work done. That’s why Cedarville gave you an ID, so you could serve yourself.
Next time I’m walking out of Brock and someone tries to slight me with, “Hey, thanks for holding the door for me,” I’ll respond with, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a woman at a conservative Baptist college.” You know. The types where women just stand at the doors and wait for a guy to come hold the door for them. Because it’s not that they’re special and we want to show them we appreciate them, it’s that they deserve to have the door held for them.
Holding the door for you is a favor, not a requirement. Grow up. Honestly, we live in Brock. We’re already pegged with the stereotype of being arrogant idiots. Thanks for stapling that down, guys.
Comments
Minier: Sorry for Breaking the Elevator ... Again
02/05/09 09:35 AM Filed in: Stories
It wasn't all that
different from a normal morning, really. I woke
up a little before nine, slinked my way out of the
top bunk, observed that my roommate was still asleep,
and quietly crept out of the room to the
shower. Apparently my shower wasn't cold enough
or something, because I could still feel that the
sleepyness was winning in the fight for my body as I
got back to my room. Dave was still
asleep. Since the time was nearly past the
point of him rolling out of bed, throwing on some
clothes, and walking with me to chapel on time, I
opted out of waiting for him and quickly got dressed
myself.
Still somewhat groggy, I left my room and decided against the stairs. This early in the morning I just might tumble down them after losing my footing, and I do live on the third floor of Brock ... I deserved an elevator ride, I thought.
I pushed the call button. Immedietly, the doors to the waiting elevator pulled open. I stepped inside and pushed the button for the first floor. Here's where things began to get hazy, because in my delusional state, I'm not entirely sure what happened. This is what I remember: directly after pressing the button for the first floor, the elevator tried to go down. This wasn't all that bad of a decision on the elevators part, considering they are made to go up and down, except that it had forgotten to close the door first. Luckily, our elevator, as any good elevator should be, is equipped with a safety that won't allow the elevator to leave the floor until the door is closed. This resulted in the elevator shaking violently up and down; trying to move, trying to close the door, and probably trying to stop, all at the same time, all as I was thrown against the walls, grabbing the hand rails for dear life.
Finally, the elevator realized it should close the doors before trying to head down. It abruptly stopped shaking up and down and tried to close the door. We must have been just a notch below the resting point for the third floor, because the door had a horrible time trying to close. While it was trying to close at very slow speeds, the sound it made resembled that of a car crash, or some equally painful sound where metal is grinding and bending against metal. I took this opportunity, as the door was closing at just under the speed of a snail, to dive out of the elevator.
As I stood just outside the elevator, panting and trying to regain breath and concienceness, the grinding stopped and the door glided to a close. Then the power turned off. Needless to say, I took the stairs.
The Brock elevator has yet to work since this happened. This my open apology letter to you all. I never should have hit the button for the first floor ...
Still somewhat groggy, I left my room and decided against the stairs. This early in the morning I just might tumble down them after losing my footing, and I do live on the third floor of Brock ... I deserved an elevator ride, I thought.
I pushed the call button. Immedietly, the doors to the waiting elevator pulled open. I stepped inside and pushed the button for the first floor. Here's where things began to get hazy, because in my delusional state, I'm not entirely sure what happened. This is what I remember: directly after pressing the button for the first floor, the elevator tried to go down. This wasn't all that bad of a decision on the elevators part, considering they are made to go up and down, except that it had forgotten to close the door first. Luckily, our elevator, as any good elevator should be, is equipped with a safety that won't allow the elevator to leave the floor until the door is closed. This resulted in the elevator shaking violently up and down; trying to move, trying to close the door, and probably trying to stop, all at the same time, all as I was thrown against the walls, grabbing the hand rails for dear life.
Finally, the elevator realized it should close the doors before trying to head down. It abruptly stopped shaking up and down and tried to close the door. We must have been just a notch below the resting point for the third floor, because the door had a horrible time trying to close. While it was trying to close at very slow speeds, the sound it made resembled that of a car crash, or some equally painful sound where metal is grinding and bending against metal. I took this opportunity, as the door was closing at just under the speed of a snail, to dive out of the elevator.
As I stood just outside the elevator, panting and trying to regain breath and concienceness, the grinding stopped and the door glided to a close. Then the power turned off. Needless to say, I took the stairs.
The Brock elevator has yet to work since this happened. This my open apology letter to you all. I never should have hit the button for the first floor ...
First Week Ramblings
01/09/09 04:40 PM Filed in: Academia
Passing Out
How many people have to pass out in chapel before we’re considered charismatic? I said at least ten, but Dave thinks we can probably get away with just five. Either way, I don’t think we’re up to charismatic yet ... But we’re gaining fast.I’m back at school again, and this week is the Spring Missions Conference. Yes, we’ve already had two people pass out. In chapel. On the same day. I think this may be a hint as to how stellar our speakers have been thus far, specifically two days ago when the two people passed out.
The first guy was the camera man. I’m guessing he locked his knees, but I think it’s more fun to blame it on the speaker who couldn’t even hold Jessica’s interest enough to keep her taking notes. And she always takes notes.
The second one was somebody in the back. I didn’t see them, but just as chapel was just getting out, Jesse Jones (my hero) flipped open his phone to view a text message. I then heard him mutter, “Oh, crap, somebody else passed out.”
“Wait, what? Besides the camera guy?”
“Yah, they’re in the back,” he replied as he threw his backpack over his shoulder and darted to the back of the chapel. Jesse is an EMT. He’s also a stud. And yes, ladies, I do believe he’s single.
Elevator
Campus Safety has it out to get us. By us I basically only mean the dorm of Brock. The elevator hasn’t worked all year, but at the beginning of this semester our RD sent out an email informing us that it has been turned on again. It was turned off at the beginning of the year due to “improper use.” We’re not sure what that means; all we did was put a bench and a lounge chair on it ... Repeatedly ... After they kept getting taken off, presumably by Campus Safety or Maintenance.Anyway, our elevator is back on, and Dave and I are making the most of it. We’re pretty lazy when it comes to stairs. However, the elevator is really creepy to use ... It makes all sorts of creaking sounds and sways back and forth as it crawls up and down. I honestly think we’re going to end up getting stuck in it one of these days. Dave’s motto is, “Never ride in an elevator with someone you wouldn’t be willing to make out with for a few hours if the elevator got stuck.” I’m not sure what this means considering he rides up and down with me regularly, but we inform anyone riding on the elevator with us of our motto, just so they know.
Kristi’s Still Small
It turns out Kristi hasn’t grown any over break. She still fits just as snugly as before in one of these chairs.
Classes, etc.
Except for lab, I’ve now attended all of my classes. I have all my classes on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and one of them (which is a five-credit class) is also on Tuesday, Thursday. I’m taking Calculus II, General Physics I, Discrete Math, and Programming Language Survey. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I think I’ll be able to handle it. This afternoon I finished putting all of my assignments into a calendar entitled “Schoolwork” on Google Calendar. I found a way to properly synchronize Google Calendar with iCal, which syncs with iTunes, which syncs with my iPod! Now my entire schedule and all my homework with me wherever I go!Random Quote
“Wow ... Well now I’ve seen everything!”“Really? Have you seen a man eat his own head?”
I don’t know if it was just too late at night or ... What, but this quote was about the only redeeming quality to this movie, which shall remain unnamed for security reasons.
Weekend
I’ve officially made it to my first weekend back at school. It’s Friday, and I’ve finished all classes for today. Kylee and I (and anyone else that decides to tag along) are going to see Seven Pounds tonight. Tomorrow I’ll start on getting ahead on all my homework.The first week always seems to be the worst. It’s when you’re experiencing that shock of going from waking up at eleven in the morning and doing absolutely nothing all day back to waking up with the sun to stress yourself out all day. But it always gets better. The semester is almost never as bad as the syllabi or prof make them out to be the first day of class (and one of my profs certainly made the class out to be awful ... But it won’t be).
All-in-all, it’s great to be back with friends and at the school I love. And I’m really looking forward to this semester. And, yes, I do realize this is the most random and unorganized post I’ve ever written. You’ll have to give me a break. It’s just the end of the first week, which both similar (in terms of your mind being fried) and completely different than (in terms of amount of stress and workload) than Finals Week.
I like hot. I hate cold.
11/26/08 07:54 AM Filed in: Stories
I like hot.
I hate cold.
I woke up the other morning extremely drousy. Shuffling my way to the shower (and hitting a few walls in the process due to my not-even-half-opened eyes), I performed the morning ritual, as us Americans know it, of getting clean.
I remember standing in the shower in my delusional state thinking, Didn't Stephen tell me, once upon a time, that it's good for you to take a cold shower? You know, even if he had, I'm not sure why I would have thought it would be a good idea. But, like I said, I wasn't thinking straight at the time. It being, like, 6:00am, I wasn't actually thinking at all.
Something about waking up quicker. Something about jumpstarting all the systems in your body. Something about giving your immune system a Good Game pat for yesterday and a motivational speech for the upcoming game. Something about blood circulation and capillaries. Something about contracting muscles to eliminate toxins.
You know, I'll tell you, it may very well do all of those things, taking a cold shower. So after rinsing my hair, I reached for the handle and turned it to cold. All the way. This was not one of my better ideas in my lifetime.
After my body went into complete shock, it was nearly impossible to function. How was I supposed to get clean if I couldn't even move due to the extreme cold? I tried to tough it out for a while, but myself and I finally decided that this idea sucked, so we resorted to finishing the shower off warm. Bad news: once Brock showers turn cold, they don't turn back.
I was forced to suffer the remainder of the shower under bitterly cold water. Sure, maybe my immune system battled off a few diseases that day, and I certainly woke up faster than I ever have in my life. And, yes, the walk back to my room felt supremely wonderful instead of the usual chilly. But other then that, I don't think it was worth it.
I like hot.
I hate cold.
I hate cold.
I woke up the other morning extremely drousy. Shuffling my way to the shower (and hitting a few walls in the process due to my not-even-half-opened eyes), I performed the morning ritual, as us Americans know it, of getting clean.
I remember standing in the shower in my delusional state thinking, Didn't Stephen tell me, once upon a time, that it's good for you to take a cold shower? You know, even if he had, I'm not sure why I would have thought it would be a good idea. But, like I said, I wasn't thinking straight at the time. It being, like, 6:00am, I wasn't actually thinking at all.
Something about waking up quicker. Something about jumpstarting all the systems in your body. Something about giving your immune system a Good Game pat for yesterday and a motivational speech for the upcoming game. Something about blood circulation and capillaries. Something about contracting muscles to eliminate toxins.
You know, I'll tell you, it may very well do all of those things, taking a cold shower. So after rinsing my hair, I reached for the handle and turned it to cold. All the way. This was not one of my better ideas in my lifetime.
After my body went into complete shock, it was nearly impossible to function. How was I supposed to get clean if I couldn't even move due to the extreme cold? I tried to tough it out for a while, but myself and I finally decided that this idea sucked, so we resorted to finishing the shower off warm. Bad news: once Brock showers turn cold, they don't turn back.
I was forced to suffer the remainder of the shower under bitterly cold water. Sure, maybe my immune system battled off a few diseases that day, and I certainly woke up faster than I ever have in my life. And, yes, the walk back to my room felt supremely wonderful instead of the usual chilly. But other then that, I don't think it was worth it.
I like hot.
I hate cold.