I wouldn’t say I’m sexually attracted to my dorm’s card reader, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a certain charge from it. All doors into the old brick building are unlocked by swiping your student ID through a reader next to the door. They’re small grey boxes with a keypad, a small LED display, 3 indicator lights (green for open, red for not and yellow for error) and a long, deep chasm with a magnetic strip reader. The west door is particularly finicky. She never opens on the first swipe unless you do it just right. If you don’t have that touch, she won’t let you in until you’re almost tired from swiping your card.

We’ve experimented, she and I. Once in a while she’d let me in with one swipe, just to tease me. Tricky girl. I played around with her slot, swiping my card in and out of her at varying rates. It turns out she likes it slow. You can’t just throw your card through and hope to get in. It has to be gentle and smooth. Do that, and she’ll let you in every time.

Once I was in a bad mood from a pretty dismal mid-term followed by a typical Florida downpour, and I slammed my card into her and out faster than normal. I realized it wouldn’t work, but to my surprise, the green confirmation light flickered on and I heard the door unlock. So she likes it quick too, huh? Feisty.

My pleasure in opening the door to my building is fleeting. It’s more of a personal joke. Something I can giggle at whenever I come inside. I’m not some sort of pervert or degenerate. It’s just a small, private moment between myself and a little slot.

Besides, she doesn’t even return my phone calls.