With the last day of our work conference just around the corner, we had one last celebration in tres cero siete. After the celebration, the majority of us returned to our rooms early. Steve Rodeo, however, wasn’t ready for the night to end. Right soon after I donned my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and put in my retainer, I heard a knock at the door. Even though I knew who it was, I looked through the peephole to be sure. I was right, it was Steve Rodeo, and he was standing outside my door, one eye open, hoping to be let in.
I let him in the first time, for a few minutes, and then told him he needed to leave. Somehow that worked. Seconds later, he was knocking at my door again. I opened it, with the deadbolt engaged, and advised him he needed to go home. He insisted he had left his phone in my room. I insisted it was in his pocket. I then turned on the TV, turned it up and attempted to zone out the next 30 minutes of knocking; as did Irish Girl, whose room, tres cero siete, was right across the way.
The next morning, as we discussed the previous evening, she apologized for Steve Rodeo’s behavior. “I’m used to people knocking and not letting them in,” I told her. “Is that your dating philosophy?” she asked. “Perhaps,” I said and then heard what sounded like the pop of one of my shirt buttons. “I think I may have just busted a button,” I informed her. “I thought you didn’t let people in,” she said. “That was a small window of opportunity,” I replied.
We then decided to pay attention to the conference and learned two key points:
Almost doesn’t count.
Sometimes a lot of people want to participate. The easiest way to fix that is to shrink the stage.
Use the deadbolt, shrink the stage. Same, same.