The Great Stairwell Escapades The building I spend most of my time in on campus has four floors. This means three flights of about twenty stairs. Not that bad, right? Wrong, apparently.  Part 1-- Heels. I take the steps wherever I am on campus because the main elevator in this building is quite fast and makes me nauseous and the elevators in the other buildings are annoyingly slow. I take the three flights up to my office. I take the three flights down when I leave. I take the one or two flights between my classes. I take them with my backpack. I take them when I have extra stuff to carry. And yes, I take them in... HEELS. I'm a bit more careful because I'm impossibly clumsy, but still. Stairs aren't a big issue.  Now, in my ES class there's only five females; the rest are male. Four of us are slim. However, there's one who... oh god, shitpeople. This thing is easily three hundred pounds, cakes its makeup on so thick you could scrape it off with a trowel, Has roots about six inches long, ALWAYS wears leggings, ALWAYS shows up late with a huge Starbeetus, and ALWAYS has no clue what the fuck is going on. I passed it some time after class, coming up the steps from talking to a professor on a lower floor. It gave me the normal "I hate you" up and down glance that I'm sure all of the shitladies here get often, but when it saw my feet it was visibly surprised. "Oh my god, Bitter, Girl! Why are you taking the stairs in those things?!" Those things are a pair of two or three inch booties with a wide heel. Ergo, easy to walk in. I wasn't in damn stilettos, people. I shrugged.  "I always take the stairs." I wasn't eager to talk to it; I had a lot of work to do. I tried to go to my office, but this thing literally blocked my path. "No, Girl, that's so bad for you! You're gonna hurt yourself! Think about your poor ankles!" At this point, I'm having "owh my legs" flashbacks. My ankles are fine you fucking lard monster. "No, I do this all the time. I don't like the elevator, and I'm not heavy enough to damage my ankles from walking. Now I really have to get to work," I said, as I shoved past it. I didn't look back, but I'm sure it wasn't happy with me. Imagine being so fat you're afraid of hurting yourself with shoes. Part 2-- It's literally one floor down. It's not that hard. Another thing I notice as I run errands around the building is that fats can't even be bothered to take the stairs short distances. I've seen them wait ages for the elevator to take two flights up, all the while complaining about how late they are when there's a staircase right next to them. I've seen them cram themselves into an elevator that's already stuffed like a sardine can (so like four fats), when there's a staircase right next to them.  I showed a fat student to a classroom a few weeks ago, and it was one floor down. I was talking and explaining directions, doing my assistant thang, and I didn't really pay any mind to the elevator. Instead I went to the stairs, the stairs that were RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO IT.  "Wait, can we take the elevator?" this thing asked. I looked at it with a raised eyebrow. "My knees are acting up. I damaged them in track in high school." Sure, I'll chalk that up with "things that didn't happen" for you, obeast. I kinda smiled all innocently and gave a light chuckle.  "It's only one floor down! If you want to take it then you can, I'll meet you down there. Remember, it's just one floor down." Just ONE FLOOR DOWN, YOU FAT FUCK. And sure enough, as I walked away, this thing waited at the elevator. I was sitting on a bench by the time it came out. I smiled at it. "Ready to go?" It just kinda nodded and wouldn't make eye contact with me. If I had done something that pointless, I would be ashamed too.