I held the door open for a woman yesterday, arm fully extended like I was personally welcoming her to Narnia. She walked through, then stopped dead to check her phone. I'm still standing there, door open, bicep burning, waiting for the gratitude that would make this a transaction instead of a hostage situation.

You hold the door open for someone, they walk through without a glance, and suddenly you're standing there like a maître d' at a restaurant that doesn't exist. So now you're committed—you can't just let it slam, that makes *you* the villain. You're trapped in an invisible job you never applied for, holding this door like it's the only thing keeping society from collapse. Eventually they're far enough away that you can finally release it, and you realize you've been standing there so long a second person has already walked through. You didn't open the door for them either—they just benefited from your institutional punishment.

You hold the door open for a woman at the coffee shop. She walks through, doesn't acknowledge you, and you stand there like a maître d' at a restaurant that closed in 1987, still holding the door, waiting for applause that will never come. Your arm is now part of the building's infrastructure. You've become a human hinge with regrets.

You hold the door open for a stranger, make full eye contact to establish dominance, and they walk through without acknowledging you. So now you're just standing there, arm extended, looking like you've made a life choice to be a doorman at a regional airport. The door closes on your shoe. You've won nothing.