Today I watched as two patrons, a middle-aged man and wife, approached the front doors of our building. The woman reached out for one of the doors and began to yank on its handle. It didn't open. She yanked again and again it held. Finally, she really gave it some moxy and the top bolt of the door's latch popped out of its housing and the door opened.
"Your door's sticking," she said upon exiting the breezeway. Then, using a tone I very much didn't appreciate, she added, "Or do you care?"
I stared at her for a long moment.
"Ma'am," I said, "you have to turn the handle."
At this she gave me a blank look and then furrowed her eyebrows as though she didn't understand what I had just said.
"You have to actually turn the handle of the door in order to open it," I said. I then demonstrated the motion necessary to turn our door handles in the air in front of me.
There was a pause.
"Oh," she said, with a satisfactorily guilty tone. "I was just pulling on it," she added. "If I broke it, he can pay for it," she finished, pointing to her husband.