Across Columbia’s campus, a subtle complication is taking a toll on the mental health of students.

It lurks at the ends of hallways, blocks the way to libraries, and forces the strength of our minds and muscles to collapse. It is in fact the biggest issue on campus right now. The damn doors will not open.

It seems to be a result of their automation—what was added to make them easier to use has actually made them harder. The door is actively working against you when you push. It wants to humiliate you. It wants onlookers to stare and laugh at you, an overworked student, panting and struggling against the immovable mound of wood and metal, squeezing through the tiny opening you have managed, the lock catching against your bag. 

Butler poses the biggest difficulty. The best way to enter the building is to slip through the doors right after someone else has left so you can leave all the labor to them. Sometimes in order to do this you must sacrifice the person coming up behind you; the doors are already closing, and you can’t hold them because that requires just as much work as actually opening them, so they are left to fight against the unstoppable automation. The doors of Columbia are where community dies.

I’d like to add that I am not trying to be a pick me: oh, I’m so small and weak, I struggle with basic day-to-day tasks. Because it’s not just me. Every day I watch someone a few feet ahead launch their full body mass into a stubborn door. It could be Wein, it could be Hartley, it could be Diana, it could be the second door at Avery, or the one beyond the revolving bars at Lerner. Wherever you go across campus, you are sure to find a door that vehemently opposes your simple wish for it to do its one job: open.

And if you’d rather press the button, be prepared to wait two business days to enter the building.

Image via Bwarchives