Friday, July 13, 2007



The elevator doors slide open and the middle-aged guy who was standing to the side rushes out, pushing aside a mother and her son and almost running over the little man trying to get in. He then stops and immediately rushes back in, looking a bit sheepish.

Man: [Turning red] Oops, wrong floor.

Me: [Thinking to myself] It's alright, dude. You don't need to offer an explanation, because it's not going to change what the rest of us in here are all thinking:

The Rest of the Elevator: ...you idiot.

Having to run back into the elevator because you got out on the wrong floor is a bit embarrassing. For however long it will take the elevator to get to your planned floor, you stand with your nose to the door at the front of the elevator as everybody else stares at the back of your head criticizing you, your intelligence, and your wardrobe choices for the day.

It doesn't matter that you were preoccupied with thoughts about your new grandson, or your sick family member, or your own terminal illness. The elevator is a small, brutal little world of germs, fake smiles, unwanted judgement, and violations of personal space. And in here, nobody likes people that take the elevator to travel one floor, pushes the wrong button, takes too long to get in or out, or does anything to delay the elevator's travel time.

What could possibly make this situation worse?

Little Boy: [whispering in that loud way that kids do] Hey Mommy, his fly's open.