Revolving doors are a bit of a weird thing, aren’t they? I mean, when you really think about it, they just seem like an unnecessary waste of space and material for the sake of stuntin’ on open-and-shut doors. When you’re a kid they’re this cool, futuristic way to get inside a building, but as an
adult older kid, I’m always a bit grossed out that I have to put my bare ass hands on the door to get through it. Especially in this disgusting city. I’d always rather do the turn-to-the-side and push the door open with my hip. So anyway, the other day, after getting off at my subway stop, I attempted to use a revolving door to get onto the sidewalk, and something I’d never even considered happening took place. A man – chubby, mid-50s – got into my portion of the door. Like, he couldn’t wait two seconds for an empty quarter to swing around. He got right in there with me. How psychotic is that? Why would he do that? Just chill out for a second dude, you can’t be in THAT much of a rush.
I felt his belly on the back of my puffy jacket, and for a moment, believed I was about to be raped by this man. That worry quickly passed when I just got out of the door and we went our separate ways, and I realized a rape would be difficult to accomplish in the one, possibly two seconds we spent together in a tiny glass quarter of a revolving door on Park Ave, but trust me, it was very real in the moment. I just panicked, turned red, kept pushing away at the wall in front of me, and escaped with a swift speed walk when the outside world was revealed. It shook me to my core for so long that I hadn’t said a word about it until now, in fear that my revolving door pervert would be looking for me to snitch on him on the internet and possibly retaliate, but now, I’ve shared my story, and feel much better for doing so. Thanks for reading.
Also, it is a VERY slow news day.