An Open Letter to People Who Walk Slowly in the Middle of the Hallway

Dear person who walks slowly in the middle of the hallway,

You are not a fast walker. I get that. You have your pace, and if your pace makes glaciers impatient, well, so what? Hell, if I myself weren’t six and a half feet tall with correspondingly freaky long legs, I’d probably move a little slower too. Here’s the thing: I’m okay with slow walking. Really, I am.

You have also chosen to walk in the middle of the hallway. Traditionally, walkers have selected the right half of the hallway to practice their art, because this opens up the left half for other purposes (more on that soon). But hey, I’m okay with walking in the middle, too. Why not? To each their own, beat of a different drummer, et cetera.

But here’s the thing. These two elements, benign in isolation, turn dark indeed when forced into an unnatural union. No doubt you are wondering why. Allow me to explain:

You are not the only person in the hallway.

I’ll wait for a minute while that sinks in.

The corollary of this epiphany is that other walkers (for example, me) will sooner or later almost certainly want to pass you. That’s where that “leaving the left half open” thing comes in. Otherwise, my options are limited:

1. Get your attention and say “excuse me,” which is not only awkward but also requires me to speak to you, both of which I’m trying to avoid.

2. Try to pass you in the existing space to your left, which is even more awkward and also risks having to speak aloud.

3. Walk ever so slowly behind you, trying unsuccessfully to look like that’s my natural pace too, until the hallway widens or you turn or I turn or one of us dies of old age.

So do us both a favor. Either advance in the forward direction, or get out of my way.

Sincerely,

Every tall person in the world

P.S. If you happen to know who designed my cell phone so its vibration motor is as loud as its ringtone, can you send me their address? I’ve got a letter to write.