I think out of all people on earth, I am the one who has thought the most about the button that opens the train doors. I feel like this says a lot about me as a person, most of which I would not like to unpack without a therapist or valued friend present. For now, let me tell you my tale of woe.
I used to be very anxious on public transport. I always felt that there were unspoken rules and expectations that I couldn’t figure out *cough* autism *cough*. The first time I had to press the ‘stop’ button on the bus, I was heavily panicking about at what point in the interval between the last stop and my stop I had to press it. Too early, and maybe the busdriver would think I meant the previous stop or consider me an overeager loser. Too late, and maybe the bus wouldn’t actually stop. I was also very aware of what time I got up from my seat to stand in front of the doors. I always thought that people would judge me for getting up way too early, but the idea of missing my stop because I didn’t make it to the doors in time was also unbearable. I eventually decided that missing my stop, or even feeling like I was going to miss it, was the worst of the two evils.
All this is an elaborate way to establish two things: first, I care way too much about what strangers on the train think of me; and second, I am always the first person at the doors. This means that I am almost always the person who has to press the button to open the doors. Luckily, I am totally normal about that.
That was obviously a lie. My original strategy was this: I would have my hand near the panel, and as soon as the train came to a halt I would immediately press the button as fast as possible. This worked very well for me, because it both validated my desire to please strangers by ensuring maximum button press efficiency, and it also presented a fun mini-game in my train journey to try to get it as fast as possible. It’s important to note that the doors do not open if the train is moving even the slightest bit, so if you jump the gun, you will need to press the button a second time. This will waste approx. half a second of everyone’s time, and will leave me with an immense feeling of shame for at least fifteen minutes.
Disaster struck one day when I was taking the train to Hoorn to visit my parents. Miraculously, I was not the first person at the doors, and the woman who was stood firmly in front of the button panel. The train was slowing down to approach the station, when she pressed the button. This was clearly a rookie mistake, as the train had not fully stopped yet. However, and the following event has haunted me since, she KEPT IT PRESSED. This ensured minimum time loss as the doors would open as soon as they were able to.
I was devastated. Not only had my button pressing strategy been inadequate, but I would now have to do the same thing, thus erasing my fun train mini-game. I could not in good conscience continue with it, as it would result in me knowingly wasting strangers’ time. You, dear reader, might consider this an exaggeration, but I swear to god I have not been able to bring myself to wait until the train has stopped since this incident. It genuinely makes me feel guilty.
I think the moral of this story is to not have autism, or to not care about the opinion of strangers. Unfortunately, neither is an option for me, so I will take solace in the fact that I might have spared some people a very small amount of time.