Your karma ran over my dogma
Oct. 5th, 2008 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly."
- Woody Allen
When I first moved into this 13-story building, I lived on the fifth floor. To my mind, the fifth floor is in a sort of "gray area" when it comes to stairs or elevator usage. It's certainly within the acceptable range of stair-taking, but it would also be defensible to take the elevator.
Over the four years I lived in that apartment, I developed the policy of always taking the stairs as long as I had at least one hand free to grasp the railing. The rationale behind this policy was twofold: it would require, however negligible, some physical exertion and therefore philosophically justify the raiding of the fridge that generally accompanies my return home. Also, it would spare fellow elevator riders from too many local stops en route to their higher-level domeciles.
A year and a half ago, however, J. and I moved to the seventh floor of this same building. The seventh floor seems to exceed the elevator threshhold, at least on the way up. I always take the stairs down, however, except when I'm going downstairs with J., who refuses to take the stairs altogether. (She insists that it's all about lesiure and convenience, but I have a feeling it's because she wears those flip-flops all the time and it's impossible to walk downstairs in those things without accidentally kicking them off your feet. Not a surprising design flaw, given that this style of footwear was probably invented before stairs were.)
I feel conflicted, though, when I'm returning to my apartment from the apartment's fitness center, which is located on the basement level. Eight total flights is a lot. But it seems incongruent that I would subject myself to a rigorous physical workout and then take the elevator upstairs rather than simply walk the eight flights up as an exercise "chaser." Besides, I'm already sweaty.
But I inevitably settle for the elevator, accepting the luxurious ride up despite a nagging concern about polluting the confined elevator airspace with my personal post-workout aroma.
The only thing that makes me feel less self-conscious about this indulgence is the even greater elevator sin I see perpetrated on an all-too-regular basis. When I see someone take the elevator from the basement to the first floor, or the first floor to the second floor, or -- so help me -- the second floor to the first floor, I want to scream. I want to scream at these people:
"Excuse me, do you not know where the stairs are? I'm sure someone could have helped you find them. No? You're just lazy? Slow? Do you have some sort of mental or motor disability? When I see you walk out of this elevator, you had better be walking with a goddamn limp, or else I am going to carve my phone number into your chest with my keys, and that way the next time you want to go downstairs, you can give me a call, and I will personally come to your apartment and THROW YOU OUT OF THE FUCKING WINDOW."
Maybe I need to find a ranch-style apartment building.
- Woody Allen
When I first moved into this 13-story building, I lived on the fifth floor. To my mind, the fifth floor is in a sort of "gray area" when it comes to stairs or elevator usage. It's certainly within the acceptable range of stair-taking, but it would also be defensible to take the elevator.
Over the four years I lived in that apartment, I developed the policy of always taking the stairs as long as I had at least one hand free to grasp the railing. The rationale behind this policy was twofold: it would require, however negligible, some physical exertion and therefore philosophically justify the raiding of the fridge that generally accompanies my return home. Also, it would spare fellow elevator riders from too many local stops en route to their higher-level domeciles.
A year and a half ago, however, J. and I moved to the seventh floor of this same building. The seventh floor seems to exceed the elevator threshhold, at least on the way up. I always take the stairs down, however, except when I'm going downstairs with J., who refuses to take the stairs altogether. (She insists that it's all about lesiure and convenience, but I have a feeling it's because she wears those flip-flops all the time and it's impossible to walk downstairs in those things without accidentally kicking them off your feet. Not a surprising design flaw, given that this style of footwear was probably invented before stairs were.)
I feel conflicted, though, when I'm returning to my apartment from the apartment's fitness center, which is located on the basement level. Eight total flights is a lot. But it seems incongruent that I would subject myself to a rigorous physical workout and then take the elevator upstairs rather than simply walk the eight flights up as an exercise "chaser." Besides, I'm already sweaty.
But I inevitably settle for the elevator, accepting the luxurious ride up despite a nagging concern about polluting the confined elevator airspace with my personal post-workout aroma.
The only thing that makes me feel less self-conscious about this indulgence is the even greater elevator sin I see perpetrated on an all-too-regular basis. When I see someone take the elevator from the basement to the first floor, or the first floor to the second floor, or -- so help me -- the second floor to the first floor, I want to scream. I want to scream at these people:
"Excuse me, do you not know where the stairs are? I'm sure someone could have helped you find them. No? You're just lazy? Slow? Do you have some sort of mental or motor disability? When I see you walk out of this elevator, you had better be walking with a goddamn limp, or else I am going to carve my phone number into your chest with my keys, and that way the next time you want to go downstairs, you can give me a call, and I will personally come to your apartment and THROW YOU OUT OF THE FUCKING WINDOW."
Maybe I need to find a ranch-style apartment building.
