The Portals of Peccadillo, Redux

Okay, righto, true. Trusted commenters to the last post have a valuable point. I heartily concur, namely:

It is just as rude -- perhaps even more rude -- to fail to extend gratitude, or nod, or in some way acknowledge human kindness, urbanity, and civility, when someone politely holds open a door for others to pass through. Not to do so reeks of entitlement, condescension, and disdain.

Littering?

This seemingly pickiest of peccadilloes (unpickiest -- the failure to pick up) is a symbol of the decline of order and respect; it is a symbol of ruin.

Just like running red lights.

Just like the lack of courtesy.

I sound Victorian (I am; I love those naughty tales of covered-up lasses), but mutual civility equals civilization. In American cities, people are shooting each other over a perceived lack of so-called respect, not having done anything whatsoever to merit the respect in the first place (Michael Vick, anyone?).

The Portals of Peccadillo

Want to know what peccadillo pisses off Pawlie? Solipsistic Portal Syndrome. Picture this. You're in a grocery store, one that does not have automatic doors, or at the entrance to some sleek corporate HQ, or on the way to divorce court, or at the DMV, or the ER, or to a job interview, et cetera ad nauseam. Pick one. Some fat-ass or Twiggy-ass or pear-shaped ass or Ordinary Mortal advances before you. He or she opens the glass panel. He or she opens the door and keeps walking, solipsistically not bothering to acknowledge your human form or its fragrance or stain or aura or perhaps even its mysterious repulsive force field. No. Oh no. Solipsistic Portal Syndrome, or SPS, only admits the self through the doors of life. Said person opens the door, advances, lets said door close, and keeps walking, even though you, dear reader, may be millimeters to the rear of this ogre.

I have sometimes sarcastically said, "Thanks" to such narcissists. (By the way, did you know sarcasm means "flesh-cutting"? Deservedly, in this case.)

I want to shriek at these ingrates, "Can't you pause, turn around, and hold open the feckin door, you feckin feckhead?!"

But I don't.

It's not just the idea of opening a door. Of course, I can open the door on my own. It's the smug solipsistic sarcastic self-absorbed savage lack of courtesy of such twats.

I wonder if Ralphie encounters aspects of this.

And don't get me started on Littering and the End of Civilization.

(There, I feel better already. Incidentally, can anyone give me a better word than "peccadillo"? This, to me, is a quasi-major offense, not a trifling one.)