An Open Letter to the Women Who Were Laughing in the Stairwell

Dear Ladies,

First off, let me say that I enjoy laughter in general. In fact, I believe that the office, and the stairwell in particular, should be all fun and games. After all, we all remember the great old adage, "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye; then it's just fun."

However, you need to understand something. I work on the eighth floor, and I, two to three times a week, need to go down to the sixth floor. It should also be noted that I'm sure that I have the blood pressure of a mouse being chased by a cat, and that currently, the most exercise that I get is my walk down to and back from the sixth floor.

Something else that you need to know is that, for some reason, I react unreasonably to laughter when I don't know specifically what is being laughed at. My unreasonableness manifests itself in the form of a monologue in my cerebrum that goes like this: "Are they laughing at me? They're laughing at me, aren't they? Here I just wanted to take a walk, and now I'm being laughed at. What's next? Will the Venezualan President call me the devil?"

It stands to reason, therefore, that by hearing you laughing, I can no longer take the stairwell. I will need to escape to the safety of the elevator, where, even if anyone else is riding, one is too much in someone else's personal space to really find very much funny. By not walking, I am not getting exercise, and, ergo, I am not lowering my blood pressure.

Now, as I will, likely, one day be a father, and all of you pretty definitely had a father at one point, I want you to consider something. When I keel over from massive heart failure next week at the ripe old age of 24 due to my lack of a walk today, I want you to consider my theoretical little daughter crying her theoretical little tears at my theoretical premature departure from this plane of existence.

Those are her theoretical exact thoughts; she's theoretically deep.

Once you think of that, think of how your father would feel if he knew that you had killed someone, and about how the knowledge of such a death would almost definitely lead to his own theoretical demise.

So, by not allowing me to walk, you're killing your father. Take a moment to ponder my flawless logic.

Now, I am not an unreasonable person, and I have come up with what I think is a reasonable and attractive option for both parties. The next time you find something funny in the stairwell, by all means go ahead and laugh. However, when you hear a door opening into the stairwell, please shout out whatever you were laughing at, to let whoever is entering the stairwell know that it is all right, you were not laughing at them.

For example, if you were laughing about how your coworker Joey Joe Joe Bobalu's nose is like the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range due to his adult onset acne, when you hear someone entering the stairwell, I would advise you to first ascertain if the person entering the stairwell was Joey. If it is, come up with another funny story on the fly. If it isn't, shout out the story. Whether or not it the person who is entering the stairwell knows Joey or not, you can be sure that that person will enjoy the the simile of a nose looking like a mountain range.

See? This way everyone has a good laugh (except possibly Joey) and I get to take my walk, therefore saving my own life for further generations.

Your dearest darling,
AC