Waiting for Gouda

Escalators really are a trouble area for me. Well, not the escalators themselves, but rather ninety-nine percent of the people who I encounter on, near, or around escalators. This is something that I have discovered about myself relatively recently, as escalators were a rather rare experience for me in all the other places that I have lived. Galway, NY does not have a great deal of need for escalation, unless you count those cool contraptions that you use to get hay bales up into the barn loft (which, incidentally, you are NOT really supposed to ride). Ithaca, NY actually banned escalators, I think, because they confused all the hippies. And almost all buildings in the state of Florida have just a single story due to fear that anything larger than that will probably sink into the swamp.

But Chicago, on the other hand, has plenty of escalators. Stores, office buildings, subway lines, airports… you name a building, there’s probably a way to get from one floor to another without the enormous hassle of actually having to repeatedly lift up your own legs. And this is my problem. They are stairs, people. Stairs! Yes, yes, of course, I’ve noticed that they just happen to be stairs that move, but they are still stairs. You are allowed to walk up stairs. Surely you realize this. You don’t stand on the bottom step in your own house, waiting to be transported up to bed, do you? (Do you? Please say that you don’t.) In fact, if you do happen to walk up the magical moving stairs, you’ll discover this odd sensation that you appear to be positively gliding up the stairs at a pace you never thought your lazy old ass could achieve. It’s quite remarkable! However, I understand that some people, given the choice, would rather strap themselves into some sort of auto-tronic biono-exoskeletal suit that moves you automatically throughout your entire day while allowing your actual muscles to quietly atrophy. Fine. Live as you will. But at least, and this is the important part, Get. Out. Of the. Way.

Step aside.

Angle your improbably large ass to one side and allow those of us who actually have a purpose in life to pass you. You know, by walking. Up the stairs. Do not stand in the middle, duffle-bag sized purse dangling to one side, little rolly-bag luggage thing on the other, or you will be beaten. Couples, do not stand on the same step together, or you will be beaten. If you are actually kissing each other while you block the way for normal use-your-own-legs people, you will be beaten and then set upon by a swarm of angry hornets.

It’s all very simple. Either walk up the stairs like a normal human being, step aside, or die. Thank you.