Twenty years ago, I was just a kid avoiding contact with the world, walking the streets of Manhattan with a giant Walkman slung on my hip.  I was often listening to the static between radio stations, but looking engrossed to any passerby.  “This is the most poignant haunting melody ever created by man, and I must look through you as I may attain nirvana in the next minute.”  The real wish behind my expression: please go away.

Then one day at work, I got an office.  Hurrah, no more forced camaraderie all day long.  I could finally let my hair down; especially since my optimal hair-drying method involved repeatedly twisting the hair and shoving it into the back of my shirt. And I could now attack food freely during phone calls, without worrying about the cute blond copywriter across the way staring at the black bean on my cheek.  A new world.

At first, I tried to learn and live by the cues of office door etiquette.  Of course an open door meant an invitation to come one, come all.  Also, beware if you happened to be one of those souls who courteously called out “Bless You” for a sneeze in the hallway.  The recipient would soon come into your office to express gratitude, and fifty other details about the day.  Hrrrumph.

So I began plugging in my headphones, infused with a steady internet stream of trance and Colombian rock.  And yet, people would still saunter in, and surprisingly, start talking.  Darn tiny earbuds, too unnoticeable for the human eye.  Eventually I resorted to a half-closed door stance, combined with large headphones; and I blocked time on my online calendar, which was visible to all.  “I wanted you to know, there is some cake left from Karen’s birthday party,” was the first no-knock, walk in.  The second was “Can I ask you something?”

The next day, I closed the door fully.  For hours.  Knock.  Ignore.  Knock again. Silence.  Folder slipped under the door – a birthday card being circulated for signatures.  I failed to grasp the critical nature of this, but no surprise there.  Instant Message began flickering in the lower quadrant of my screen, “Are you busy?”

So the years move forward, and here I am still in my office chair, trying to shrivel up and disappear, but awaiting a knock at any moment.  For someone will always need to talk to you.  Right now.  Just like there will always be unavoidable crowds of people on your side of the street trying to make eye contact. One of them may try to be really friendly and rub up against your back while you are waiting at the crosswalk.  I think it’s OK to tell that person to go away.