Before I get started with this week's column, I want to tell you a quick story.
Last Friday, I was standing in an elevator, feeling very uncomfortable. To clarify, this wasn't the usual 'whoops, I got my fingers caught in the dishwasher' uncomfortable. Nah, this was more of the 'I farted during a funeral and EVERYBODY heard' type.
You know how some people get nervous in tough situations, like during a job interview or when Anna Nicole Smith talks? That's how I feel about riding in an elevator with a group of people. Even before I get on, I've got that feeling of impending doom. Cue Darth Vader's “Imperial March.”
Elevators are basically designed to make people uncomfortable. They're tall, narrow and all-together awkward looking. Plus, they've got those weird bars that you find in dance studios bolted to one wall. The exception to the cramped elevator is, of course, the hospital elevator, which is obscenely wide. But when you factor in that icky hospital smell, plus the gurney that's hogging up all the room, you're left with the same awkwardness. There's just more of it.
Office building elevators are the worst, and not just because you're forced to suffer through Kenny G. Unplugged. The buildings are taller, the rides are longer and the passengers have all received the same memo from their bosses proclaiming that smiling on company property is strictly prohibited.
So obviously I was dreading the elevator ride on Friday morning when I reported to a freelance assignment. A small crowd was already assembled at the elevator doors. The button was lit but a guy who looked just like Captain Kangaroo continued to mash it about 37 more times. Surprisingly, this wasn't as annoying as you'd think. The sounds of the button jamming were actually kind of soothing, like a cool Calypso beat. In fact, I was seconds away from bursting into “Ya put the lime in the Coke, you nut!” when the doors opened.
I quickly forced my way to prime elevator position, right in the back. Ha ha! Let the others maneuver their way between briefcases, gym bags and Starbucks cups. Plus, being in the back meant I wouldn't be facing anybody directly and would therefore be excluded from faking small talk (Elevator Etiquette for Dummies, 2005).
The other people boarded and we were off. They exchanged little nods with one another and discussed exciting topics like the weather and plans for the upcoming weekend. Sadly, this took only one floor, leaving plenty of time for the ultimate in awkwardness: seven people staring at the floor numbers light up, pretending to be fascinated.
The awkward awkwardness was interrupted by a young woman's cell phone ringing, which led to even more awkwardness when she told the caller – loudly, I might add – about her recent surgical experience.
“Honestly, Mollie, this thing was filled with soooo much pus! It was totally gross!"
As the elevator rose, visions of the pus-diving surgeon – plunger in hand – dashed through my head. I'm sure a team of nurses were on deck with Tupperware containers, ready to capture (and conveniently store!) the mystery substance. Yeech.
You'd think my fellow riders would have expressed some emotion, ANY emotion. But there they were, stone-faced and mesmerized by the pretty lights. As for Captain Kangaroo, he just stood there, his finger pressed against the #9 button. This struck me as a bit silly for two reasons. One, I don't think holding your finger on the button actually makes the elevator go any faster and two, you don't know where that finger's been. Had that finger been properly sterilized prior to boarding, we'd all be a little better off.
I tuned out the pus talk and focused on the sweet sounds of the elevator muzak. “Welcome to the Ho-tel Ca-lee-for-nia! Such a lovely place. Such a lovely place.” I couldn't resist the temptation and started to sing along, which earned me a few snarls from my co-riders. In retrospect, maybe it wasn't my singing that bothered them so much as it was the drum solo on the wall. Whatever.
Finally the elevator arrived at my floor. Thanks to Murphy and his bonehead law, this was the first stop. My plan was foiled and I wound up mumbling "excuse me's" as I shuffled through the group. I got a few looks and grumbles on my way out, but hey, that's the risk you take with elevator karaoke.
But anyway, I have more important things to worry about than awkward moments in elevators. Okay, back to business. Now let's see, I need something to write about this week. Got any ideas?
© 2005 robbloom.com.
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