Please, close the door in my face
Sometimes we confuse safety with etiquette. This column is for anyone who lives in a condo or apartment, or visits people who do. Consider this a public service announcement.
Don’t hold the door for a stranger.
Over the holidays, we were visiting friends in a building that requires a code to enter. While waiting for a buzzer, a young girl, perhaps 11, was in the inner lobby. She hopped up and went to open the door for us. I shook my head with a smile, thanked her and told her it was OK, we’d wait. It’s happened before.
In fact, every time this encounter takes place, there is a moment where a decision is being made.
This should never be a decision. Please teach your kids why they aren’t being rude by obeying the rules.
If you live in the building and know your neighbours, letting them in is one thing. But if your innate kindness or automatic good manners means you’re allowing people you don’t know in, there is little point to having a security system at all. I know it feels awful closing a door in someone’s face, but you can do it with a smile and just say, “I’m sorry.”
If you’re someone lunging for the door to get in, stop that. There needs to be zero guilt in not allowing a stranger into a building. If you do live in the building, be glad that someone is taking your safety into consideration even if it means you’ll now be fumbling for your keys. Sure it’s nice to have the door propped open if your arms are full of bags but if nobody was there, you’d get the job done.
This column isn’t the result of a terrible news story; in fact, the only time this subject gets discussed much is when it’s being bandied about as an etiquette question. We worry more about looking like a bad person than we do about maintaining people’s safety.
When I attended McMaster University a million years ago, the doors to the residences were routinely propped open with a rock. I didn’t live on campus, but my friends did.
In a world before cellphones, it was considered too much hassle for people to sort out communication to get into the building. Signs would be posted, the rocks would be removed, and they’d be right back a moment later. I’m sure, had they known about this, parents of kids in those residences would have been less than thrilled.
An unsolved murder from a decade before — the brutal killing of Adele Komorowski — had faded, the cycle of students pushing the fear to the margins. The 1983 murder of professor Edith Wightman in her office scared those of us used to tiny faculties tucked into old buildings, sequestered in cubbyhole offices. When there were several more attacks on young women during my time there, in the ‘80s, people began locking the doors again.
Safety is a huge factor we consider in choosing where we live, and where our children live. I don’t want that thwarted. All the cameras in place are great for solving crimes after the fact; I just don’t want it to take another headline to make people remember that safety measures only work if you use them.
So do me a favour and go over best practices with your children and your visitors. Our kids are keen eyewitnesses; if you break a “rule,” explain why. Otherwise, it’s a lot of do as I say, not as I do. Give them the words, the tools to stay safe. Make sure their instinct is to err on the side of caution if they’re not certain.
Remind them that anyone who belongs inside can get there without their help.