January 5 - Behind the Trouble Door

Don't open. This left door is trouble.
That's what is written in cursive on the sign on the (left) door of Robert's apartment building. He looks at it a moment, shrugs, pushes open the door on the right, and goes to work, but all day long the sign nags him. This left door is trouble? What the hell does that even mean? Is it broken? Is it loose? If so, why not just say that? Why be all weird and cryptic?
He tells a few people at work about the sign to see what they think, but he can't get any momentum going. Rick says it's probably just broken. Jill, after more than a little prodding, admits that, "Yeah, that's weird," but you can tell she doesn't really mean it. Even Wilson, who can normally be relied on to at least say something witty, gives him next to nothing.
"That's messed up," he says looking at his computer screen, his mouth full of sandwich. Like the door had hit on his girlfriend or something.
Everyone else's indifference only intensifies Robert's interest in the sign on the door. A brief timeline of his feelings toward the sign:
2:03 Cooperative - Hey, fine with me. If they don't want people opening the door, I won't open the door.
2:37 Curious - In what way is this left door trouble? And how can I help?
2:38 Indifferent - Yeah, OK. "This left door is trouble." Duly noted. Can I get back to work now?
3:19 Annoyed - "This left door is trouble"? Who says that? How the hell do you not just say the door is broken? And what the hell is with the cursive writing?
4:33 Self righteous - What the hell gives anyone the right to tell me which doors are trouble and which ones aren't? Seriously, who freaking died and made you the authority on troubled doors? Condescending prick(s).
And that's the mood he carries home, all the way to the door.
He stands a bit away from the door at first, trying to act casual as he watches people coming and going, each person dutifully obeying the sign and using the door that is not trouble. At one point a little kid starts to go for the left door, but his mom stops him, points to the sign, and undoubtedly uses it as some sort of teachable moment about the importance of doing everything a goddamned cursive sign tells you to do.
Robert starts to hate everyone who uses the right door, those sheep he shares a building with. Not a free thinker among them. Some sign tells you a door is trouble and that just becomes gospel.
Screw that.
Not me.
Robert goes up to the door, reads the sign one final time, and takes a deep breath. Then he pulls the left door open, the floor swallows him up, and he disappears forever.
Seriously, man. This left door is trouble.