There was a woman who could not get through automatic doors. They did not respond to her. Did not open. She thought it might be the dark colors she wore, so she tried dressing in nasty pastels, but the doors still did not open for her.
Most of the time it wasn't a problem, She just followed other people through doors.
She worked as a courier. She brought papers from one office to another. She took things out of baskets and she put things into baskets. No heads turned when she entered a room. It occurred to her that after seventeen months some one should recognize her. Say hello. No one did. She lived in an apartment house. Didn't recognize her neighbors. One evening as she sat eating her T.V. dinner, she realized that the only words spoken to her all day were ``Paper or plastic?'' by a supermarket clerk.
``It's my fault,'' she thought, ``I'm not outgoing enough. I don't say anything, but that's because I have nothing to say.''
The next day at work she started whooping. When she took stuff out of baskets she went ``WHOOP WHOOP.'' When she put stuff into baskets she went ``WHOOP WHOOP.''
In the big rooms full of computer terminals no one looked up. Nothing was said. She kept it up for three months. She whooped when she bought her morning coffee and when she rented videos. No one said a word. One day she whooped at the doors to her office building. To her surprise they opened. For two years they had ignored her and now with one rather subdued whoop they opened. She tried her whoop on garage doors. Not all but many of them opened. Lawn mowers, 1962 Corvairs and outdated computers were revealed to her. In the lobbies of office buildings she would whoop and herds of elevators would ignore all other signals and rush to be at her disposal. One short whoop and traffic lights changed for her. Where would it all end?
There was just one thing. No human being responded to her whoops. Still she was invisible. She became depressed. She stopped going to work and stayed home and watched T.V. all day, all night. She whooped to change the station. One particularly beautiful spring day she decided to take a walk. She hadn't eaten in days. She sat on a park bench and watched people going about their mysterious lives. A woman approached her, grey and small.
``We miss you,'' she said.
``Uh?'' said the woman.
``Remember me? Third floor at Hatchet and Hatchet.'' No. She didn't remember.
``We miss you,'' the woman said again, ``You were so efficient, and that whoop you gave - so useful. We always knew more stuff was in when we heard your whoop.''
``Thanks,'' the woman said. Then she got to thinking.
``I don't remember you.''
The small grey woman laughed.
``No one ever does,'' she said.