And Now for an Andy Rooney–Type Moment

Do you ever wonder why, when you’re walking down the street and you pass a really long line of people, it’s hard to resist the temptation to go up to someone and ask, “Why are you on line?” — even though the line has absolutely nothing to do with you and you have no intention of joining it?

I guess it’s just that reflex we all have not to be left out of anything big …

This morning I passed just such a line — one that made several loop-de-loops — in front of an office tower on Sixth Avenue in Midtown Manhattan. I resisted the temptation to ask anyone what the line was for, but now I’m dying to know. What if they were giving out some of that stimulus geetis?


Do you ever wonder why, when you’re approaching a revolving door and someone is on the other side, that person will wait for you to do the pushing, hoping to take advantage of your momentum without having to push at all? I hate those people, those centrifugal-force cadgers, those upper-body-strength stealers.

I hope our new president does something about them.

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9 Responses to And Now for an Andy Rooney–Type Moment

  1. Ellyn says:

    Actually, when I approach a revolving door I am afraid the other person will go way, way, way too fast and knock me down and I’ll have to be extracted from the door by some sort of embarrassing emergency contingent with saws and jaws of life. Or that the oncoming person will trap me in the door and assassinate me the way they did to some dude in The Godfather.

    So, as for me, I pretty much avoid the revolving doors altogether.


  2. Sally Thomas says:

    You know, I don’t like revolving doors, either. I always have some child hanging from my hand, and they won’t ever walk in lock-step formation with me, and it’s a sure bet that as soon as I start to merge into the door, or whatever the proper verb is for that action, which is not anything so simple as just WALKING THROUGH, for crying out loud, the child will see something back the other way and lunge toward whatever it is, to see it better or possess it or just not to go into the building with me, because that’s where the dentist is, and we all know about dentists. So: my arm. Child’s arm. Child’s head/neck/leg. Somebody’s entire body. Nope, I don’t like it.

    What was wrong with open-shut?

    I don’t tend to wonder whether what’s at the far end of the line is worth standing in line for, either, because when you have a child hanging from your hand, the answer is no. Doesn’t matter what it is. Gold ingots? No thanks. Not today. Got this child hanging from my hand, and we don’t do long lines . . .


  3. Lars Walker says:

    On the day of my birth, an ancient crone stood over my crib and prophesied that I would die in one of two ways:

    1. I would get my shoelace caught in an escalator tread, and be pulled through the crack at the top; or

    2. I would get my arm caught between a revolving door and its casement while someone else pushed through, and be crushed to death.

    Life is stern and life is earnest.


    • Anthony Sacramone says:

      Who knew my little revolving door anecdote would release such a flood of personal, unconscious, subconscious, and semiconscious fears and provocations?
      Wait till you see my post on dumb waiters!


  4. The Provincial says:

    See?? See what I mean?? Andy Rooney Tom Waits! I’m pretty excited about this.


  5. The Provincial says:

    Sorry, that should have been “Andy Rooney LEADS TO Tom Waits.” Or something like that.


  6. Sally Thomas says:

    Andy Rooney’s imagination may be limited, but not ours.


  7. kerner says:

    Haven’t any of you seen “the Godfather”? I haven’t felt comfortable going through a revolving door since 1972.


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