Issue 3, Semester 1, 2019
In the past I’ve gone on the record (such as it is) as being, if not quite a defender of MLS’s revolving doors, then at the least a snide critic of their detractors. Notwithstanding all of the fashionable arguments – the environmental benefits, the equalisation of air pressure, the cynically appropriate symbolism for the revolving door model of education – I mostly just never had any sympathy for people who took genuine umbrage at the triviality of whatever perceived inconvenience the doors imposed on their daily routines.
That was at least, whilst the button-operated doors adjacent to the main portals remained a viable option for one’s daily ingress. With the addition of the new five-second delay to the automatic doorways at the start of this year, leaving us with no practical alternative but to deal with those gyrating monstrosities, I can report dear readers that my position on the subject has completely and irrevocably reversed itself.
I no longer care if a thousand polar bears have to drown in the carbon footprint of our exorbitant heating bills, or if all the windows in the dean’s office periodically shatter due to sudden gusts of overpressure charging up the stairwells. Please, just let me get to into the goddam building without having to squeeze myself up against a dozen of my fellow students all rushing to make their 9:00am Property lecture. In the morning I wake in a cold sweat, dreading those rotating sentinels. I join the queues of students, trudging through the circular gatehouse, eyes downcast – our lives governed by the invisible forces of class timetables and centripetal motion. At least I am still free in my mind. At night my dreams take me to memories of my childhood. Of simple times, forgotten friends and hinged entranceways.
Michael is a Second Year JD Student and Managing Editor of De Minimis
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