An Open Letter to Door Dekers

If you've ever walked in a crowd through doors that swing shut on their own, you've probably encountered a Door Deker (term coined here on this date in Toronto, Ontario, Canada). Heck, you might even be one. Door Dekers are those who make their way through doorways in crowded places and carefully avoid touching the closing door - at all - thus ensuring that it swings shut in the face of the person behind them. It is to those people that I address the following open letter...

To all Door Dekers,

On behalf of the people who walk behind you in crowds, trying, as you are, to make their way somewhere important... you need to know what you do to us when you cross the threshold of a closing door without intervening in its momentum towards closure. We can only assume that you don't know, because otherwise we'd have to think that you are selfish and sadistic individuals (I choose my words with care, because my intention is to inform and not to inflame).

When you deke a door, for whatever reason, you are ensuring that it will collide with our noses (our most protrusive body part when we're walking forward in haste) and forcing us to take countermeasures that involve sacrificing some other part of our body because we like our noses.

Perhaps you have learned about the spread of infection and how touching unclean surfaces can endanger your health. Perhaps you are unaware of common courtesy. Perhaps you are deep in thought and oblivious to the fact that you are walking in a crowd. Perhaps you are texting and with your hands occupied, don't wish to bring another appendage into play. It doesn't matter the reason because the result is invariable and inevitable: By avoiding contact with the door, you are forcing contact for the person behind you.

Now, let's be clear; our ask of you is not that you hold the door for us, stepping aside gallantly so we can pass in front of you. That would be asking a lot, I suppose, and completely unnecessary. Instead, the ask is that you somehow slow the door's swing, with a shoulder, with a sleeved arm, with a foot, or with your hand if it's available and you're not concerned about infection. Imagine how that would help those of us who are behind you. And it seems like so little. A trifle, really.

We are people too, those of us who walk behind you. We have loved ones. We have somewhere to be. We have lives. In other circumstances, we could even be friends of yours. But when you deke a door, you are telling us that we don't matter; that you'd prefer to cause us pain (or at least annoyance) rather than violate your own desire to not have a door touch your body.

Enjoy the rest of your day, but know that our day won't be what it could have been because you, dear door deker, are a prick.

Sincerely,

The People Behind You.