Door Drama.

Let's be real: part of the reason we're polite is to: a) avoid getting shot (Philadelphia only) and then b) get some recognition for being such a swell person. Am I right?

Like today: I go to the library and on the way in, some lady is coming out with a bunch of books (insert your own "Raspberry Beret" in-through-the-Out-door joke here). So naturally, I hold the door open for her. Not like, half-assedly propping it open after I went through, but intentionally opening it for her. What do I get in return? A thank you? A nod? A smile? Eye contact? Nothing! Who am I - Fonzworth Bentley? I'm not your personal valet, here to roll out the red carpet for you. I'm not running up to Queens to get you a sugar cookie, either. (Incidentally, how excited are you that "From G's to Gents" comes back for Season 2 in a mere two weeks? Here's hoping for at least a cameo appearance by Pretty Ricky.) I'm just asking for some acknowledgement. Come on, give me SOMETHING.

Along the same lines recently was a shrimpy woman in a puffy coat who gave me a dirty look because she decided to enter the revolving door and just stand there, instead of, you know, helping it to revolve by pushing it (as I was doing). WORK WITH ME, PEOPLE.