Elevator Confessions

I love elevator rides. No, it's not the word of the day scrolling by on the 3 inch screen. In fact, most elevator rides are quite uneventful. Nevertheless, I love elevator rides because it's a gamble. And, like any gamble most of the time you lose - stuck between the dude with a fragrance of B.O. so strong it leaves you wondering whether it's the result of his overactive sweat gland or his unwashed spandex and the lady whose carrying 8 bags of assorted who knows what that prompts you to regretfully say "can I help you with that?" only to realize after she says yes that's she's actually parked in the garage down the street and now you get to hear about her highly contagious skin condition while you hold the boxes her skin just sluffed off onto. But, like any gamble there is the payoff - maybe a celebrity sighting, overhearing gossip involving your boss passing out in the garage parking lot or bumping into that hot person in the building you've been pseudo stalking in hopes that she might fall on the way out of the elevator and hit her head hard enough to actually say yes when you ask her out.

Today, like everyday, I took the elevator gamble. Really, I think it's fair to say I have no choice. Sure, I could bust up the 17 flights of stairs and breath heavily at my desk for 5 minutes while my boss makes the inevitably stop by for a heart to heart about my failure to properly use TPS reports. Needless to say, that's a risk I'm not prepared to take. Anyhow, back to the daily gamble.

I entered said elevator and noted a dude in a pinstripe suit who was going to the top floor of the elevator bank (i.e., nowhere near my workspace). I wouldn't have otherwise recalled the suit other than the fact that it immediately kicked off the song in my head "Stayin' Alive." I don't know why. It was flashy, I suppose. But, I can tell you this - it would not have made John Trovolta proud. He has standards that not just any polyester suit will meet even with slimming pinstripes. Anyhow, after the doors closed, he immediately broke the seal of elevator silence - a move that should only be broken for the occasional off-handed quip. Much to my disdain there was no quip but he was off-handed, whatever that means.

"So, how long you worked there, he says." Um, four months, I establish quickly. "Oh, I see. That sounds about right." Sounds about right? Why does that sound right? Mind racing. "I saw you several times a few months back but hadn't seen you in a while and it's good seeing you again." Timeout. I think it's important to establish that I have no idea who this guy is at this point. Just as I'm about to redirect the conversation to the word of the day the elevator doors open to my floor and at that moment I realize I better exit carefully as I'm a head injury away from having to explain to my wife how I ended up going out to dinner with the John Travolta lookalike.