I’m sure you have seen innumerable variations of me laying in front of the entry door to your friends’ houses. We come in all shapes, colors, materials, configurations, and sizes. Some of us are woven, some are shaggy, some sport a “WELCOME” in large white letters. I am a luxurious green astro-turf square about 2 feet by 3 feet with a lovely white daisy in the corner. My well-to-do cousins cover the playing fields in various stadiums.
Yes, my task is to collect the grime and dust off dirty shoes as they enter the house. Most visitors are considerate enough to wipe several times before crossing the threshold, although a few will step over me in attempts to avoid my purpose in life which is to keep my owner’s sanctuary free of unwanted mud and dirt. Although just a lowly piece of manufactured green astro-turf, I see and know every one who enters my house. I am the front door sentinel who extends a welcome and says good-bye. I am just a doormat.
I recently overheard my owner exclaim excitedly, “What am I, just a doormat? Do they think I am here for them to walk on?”
I don’t understand it. I am a proud doormat who provides a valuable service to everyone who enters the house. Without me the home’s floors would be filthy. Without me the soles of visitors’ feet would probably never get cleaned. Without my lush grassy texture people would miss the massaging action of my fibers. What’s so wrong with being a doormat?
I guess humans simply don’t like being used as a doormat. They don’t enjoy being stepped upon and used indiscriminately by selfish visitors. Being a depository for other people’s dirt, grime, and bad habits doesn’t fulfil their reason for existence on earth. Humans were not created to be good doormats.
That makes me happy. It’s job security. As long as the people in my house place value on their inherent integrity and as long as they maintain a reasonable level of self-esteem and respect, I don’t need to worry that I will be replaced with a talking, moving, thinking human model any time soon.
Next time you visit my house, don’t mistake the owner for me. He’s the bald-headed guy living inside. I’m the bright green piece of astro-turf with a daisy laying outside the front door. I am much prettier.