Were you Raised in a Barn, Eugene Levy?

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Speaking of etiquette, here’s another pet peeve I have.  Every morning I pull into my work parking lot at approximately 7:58 a.m.  At the same time a man that works in my building pulls up – either seconds before or seconds after.  He parks his black Volkswagen Jetta in an open space.  The back end is severely scratched.  He exits his car, and he’s wearing jeans, loafers and a black leather jacket every day.  He holds his black leather brief case and crosses the street, just a step ahead of me (our parking lot is across the street from our office building). 

As we’re crossing the street, Eugene Levy (that’s what I’ll call him since he looks like him) kicks it into high gear.  He’s practically all out sprinting across the street!  Well, me, first of all, not in any hurry to get to work and second, wearing 4” faux snake skin Jessica Simpson heels and abso-frickin-lutely not going to dart across the street Carrie Bradshaw style (show off!) walk my normal pace. 

So Eugene Levy actually gets to the door about four seconds ahead of me.  Clearly aware that I’m just behind him he opens the door and walks in letting the spring-back door literally slam shut right in front of my face.  Holding my purse and lunch in my left hand and my coffee in my right hand I stare at the door.  I think ‘F*ck you, Eugene Levy!’  I open the door and go about my day. 

Eugene Levy works in the law firm two doors down from my office.  Giving him the benefit of the doubt I think, ‘Well, maybe he has a big case,’ or ‘maybe he was in a hurry.’ 


But this exact scenario transpires the next four days in a row.  By the fourth day I’m completely appalled.  I want to scream down the hall “DOUCHE BAG!” and then run at him and pummel his ass to the ground!  I imagine standing over him with my 4” snake skin heel pressed firmly against his forehead. 

I say, “Now you won’t forget to hold the door open for a lady!”  Then I flip my hair extensions off my shoulder and add in for good measure “F*CKER!” as I walk away. 

Obviously I don’t do this – and not because I couldn’t take the pussy – but more so because I don’t think my boss would appreciate this unfortunate ass beating occurring right outside our office.  I sense there would be other repercussions as well, i.e., assault charges? 

I’m sure Eugene Levy would press charges, too.  He just seems like that type of guy.  He couldn’t take his ass beating like a man.  The Naperville Police would come arrest me.  Our office building is a fish bowl – basically a “strip mall” inside a building with huge windows surrounding me and everyone else.  People would be camped outside our office with popcorn and sodas watching the pregnant girl get hand-cuffed.  Eugene Levy would be crying inside his office, but then he would eye me and give me the finger. 

‘F*cking Eugene Levy!’  I would think. 

As I’m wasting away in a prison cell I look around me.  Funny I’m not the only pregnant girl.  But I am the only girl decked out with hair extensions, make-up, polished nails, kick ass jeans and a Juicy Couture bag (and don’t forget the snake skin Jessica Simpson’s). 

I call my husband. 

“Why are you in jail?”  He asks. 

“I beat the shit out of Eugene Levy.”  I respond, feeling a sense of pride, but also a bit embarrassed at my bad temper. 

Not to mention, what in the hell will I tell my unborn child?  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.  Then my husband says the worst. 

“This will do you good.  I’ll bail your ass out in the morning.” 

AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!  The horror!!!!  Bologna sandwiches, luke warm water with black floaties swirling around and a lesbian named GIna – not Gina, GI –na, a la “The 40-year-old Virgin” – stroking my hair.  This is hell. 

Realizing I’m staring at Eugene Levy as he walks past my office to go to the bathroom I smirk at him.  If only he knew…. 

And to bring my rant full-circle for you… I will NEVER – ever – understand why people refuse to hold the door open for one another.  And I’m not just talking about a man holding a door open for a woman – however what does it say about the man who doesn’t? – but a woman can hold a door open for a man, a woman can hold a door open for a woman, a man can hold a door open for a man…I think you get it.  It’s just common courtesy to not let a door slam in someone’s face behind you.  Hold the door open people!  Smile!  Say good morning!  Our society needs to go back to the basics.  Were you not taught this as a child? 

And if you don’t hold the door open for someone behind you, then I ask you this.  Were you, too, raised in a barn like my friend Eugene Levy?