Please, Do Not Feed the Tourists

A door-knob punched me in the gut this morning. I couldn't help but find the typicality of the situation amusing as I fell to the ground in pain. Yet, I was surprised it was a single-door that inflicted my injury, as I was on worse terms with the population of double-doors, and assumed any door related injury would be caused by their kind instead. People don't admit to giving inanimate objects human characteristics, but nearly everyone of modern culture, when finding themselves in an elevator, presses the button of their desired floor in a repetitive manner. This action is, of course, futile, as an elevator is a machine, and is incapable of responding to persistence. But as the ignorant, ever-assumtion-making, conclusion-jumping primates that we are, we imagine that, if we were the elevator, we would commence our liberation as to appease the irritation of our buttons being repeatedly pressed. Did the door-knob have a motive for its violent action? I could have turned and demanded, "What the crap was that for?" I like to assume the best intentions of door-knobs, as I do the same with people. Perhaps it was just a friendly warning. A foreboding signal of a possibly negative fate. Needless to say, as a simple precaution, I took the stairs.