By the time I was in high school, I was already a feminist. My mom -- being then the president of the Boulder chapter of NOW -- had made sure of that. But she had also moved beyond believing (as some feminists did) that common courtesies -- such as holding doors and allowing ladies to enter first -- were symbols of sexism. Rather, she treated them as a mark of respect that was her due.
Two of the young ladies in my physics class, Kathy and Alison, had decided at this time that they were feminists, but they were still on the previous page. I would often arrive at the dual doors to the math/science wing a few moments ahead of them, and began holding the door open for them. Whereupon, they would make an elaborate show of opening the other door for themselves and passing through.
After the second or third occurrence, I decided to take advantage of their predictability -- and I knew just how to do it: Some time before, I had noticed that the left-hand door was hard to open, and took a long time to close. An examination of the door-closer mechanism revealed a set screw. Using my pocket knife, I loosened the set screw and tried the door. It opened easily, and closed more rapidly. "Ah, hah!" I said to myself, "this must be an air bleed, intended to control the speed at which the door closes." But it could also make the door hard to open. [cue ominous music] I had thought that door-closers contained a one-way valve that would always allow the door to open easily: the air bleed would only control the speed at which the door closed. But this one either lacked such a valve, or that valve had long since failed closed.
The next day, I made an extra effort to arrive early, took out my pocket knife and twisted the air-bleed screw on the left-hand door-closer firmly into its seat. No air bleed. I tried the door and it swung open a few inches. It would have taken a team of oxen to open it any wider. Perfect. People were starting to arrive, so I held the right-hand door open for them. Those exiting the wing were obliged to duck around the mullion.
Right on cue, Kathy arrived. Following the standard script, she went over to the left hand side and tried the door. No dice. She gave me a look that would melt steel as she swept through the right-hand door. Mission accomplished. I put the set screw back to its previous position, and joined the physics class. Kathy avoided the left-hand door for weeks....
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