Revolving Death

We live in a society fueled by trust. Trust that people will abide by the social norms--not cut in line at the supermarket, talk in noise appropriate voices in certain places, or not blow up the arena of the sporting event we're attending. You know, trust.

True, there are those who violate the standard norms of trust; those who sit right in front of you in an otherwise empty movie theater, those who leave their unsightly recycling bin on the street for an entire week if it's hauled to the curb on an "off" week, or those who criticize a hosted event when they in turn are always attenders, never organizers. (Bitter? Slightly.)

Other than the getting blown-up by terrorists at a concert or sporting event, getting blown-up at church, getting blown-up on the T, or getting blown-up um, basically anywhere, violating social trust doesn't often cross my mind until an infraction occurs.

Until now.

Let's talk for a moment about the greatest social trust issue aside from (not) getting blown up. I am, of course, talking about revolving doors. I never stopped to think about how truly frightening revolving doors are until a few weeks ago--probably about the time I started my new job and had to enter, and exit, the revolving door o' death several times a day.

Think about it. You precariously dart into space in constant motion. You can't gauge exactly at what velocity the gap will close--you are at the sole mercy of an absolute stranger on the other side of the glass--whose hands your very life are in. Okay, maybe "your life" is a little dramatic. But at least whose hands your right arm are in.

Think about it. You plot your course to the revolving door; you negotiate the open-close time of the gap, dart into the rapidly diminishing space--and SNAP. The stranger (who you trust implicitly) is pushing his half of the revolving door too fast--you can't get your entire body through the gap, and your right arm is now mangled and ripped out of its socket. Trapped in another quadrant of the revolving door. The socially broken-trust stranger across the way isn't paying any attention and is pushing harder on the door, wondering why it's stuck--the pressure is so great now, that your already limp, ragged right arm pops off like a Barbie arm, completely severed from your body. Blood spews from the gaping, open wound. Not only are you armless, but you're trapped in a section of the revolving door without the strength to apply the needed pressure to move the door; and even if you did have the strength, the floor is bloody, and your traction is crap. The stranger whose social trust is forever broken (he did take your arm) has given up and continues to chit-chat on his Bluetooth headset; setting up a tee time with clients. You're losing blood. Too fast. Your white, limp form now crumples to the tiny area allotted in your section of the revolving door. The glass steams. You die.

So, let this be a lesson. Social trust, it's important.