I was just in a lift with a view to getting back to my office with a cup of coffee I'd just made. The coffee room is on level 3. My office ........ is on level 4. Having absent-mindedly pressed the button I said to myself "why aren't you walking, dufus?" when, horror of horrors .... the door opened revealing a disgruntled passenger. I paused. In the few moments it took to scan my immediate vicinity for another individual who could conceivably have pressed the button the passenger in question asked me (my check confirmed no other plausible candidate - also, note that I have written this aside in brackets, and not as a footnote) "are you getting in?". Noting that my mouth was now too dry to speak, I mutely nodded and darted in keeping my eyes on the floor and hoping against hope my co-passenger would speak to me no further. It was not to be. "I'm going to level 5" he said (and there are only 5 levels), pointing toward the buttons by the door as though to politely check whether I needed a button pushed - but I could sense that tone of accusation in his voice. Like Phillip Ruddock and Anakin Skywalker before me ..... I had become the very thing I was sworn to hate.. "Me too" was all I could think to say.
Upon arrival at the 5th floor I paused at the staff directory on the wall. Initially, this was out of habit, since this allows me to dart through the swinging door accessing the rest of the floor just before it closes behind the second to last person in the lift. But as I did so, I now thought instead to wait until my silent accuser had left before just walking down the stairs. After a brief uncomfortable pause, I realised I was being watched. My lift-mate was holding the door open for me. "Are you coming?" he asked me, knowingly it seemed. "Oh. Yes." I walked calmly around the corner where I found and read one of those Maths is really useful, kids! signs they rather inexplicably put around maths buildings even on such floors as are occupied exclusively by people engaging in research ....... until I heard the tell-tale sound of a door closing that said to me that, barring another trick from my lift-using tormentor, it would now be safe to make good my exit. It was. I slunk quietly downstairs with my tail between my legs.
How was your morning?
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It could only happen to you, Fitz. I would have walked away from the lift from the start and pretended that someone else pressed the button.
Given the, I think clear, parity in stress levels between the two experiences I feel myself justified in adopting a phrase from Vietnam veterans here, Anita: "You don't know, man. You weren't there."
I understand the stress levels, Fitz, my point is that my instinct would be to turn and run straight away. Similar to my actions in Vietnam.
I think you should have checked raised that guy Andrew.
You check his current anger level with a good glare then you raise your anger (your words would probably sound better than my attempt)......
"He mate, if I wanted to take the fucking stairs I wouldn't have pressed the fucking up button. Today I want to take the lift. Do I look like a fat fucker that takes the lift 1 floor everyday? No, so shut the fuck up get in the lift and and enjoy your ride to level 5 you arrogant turd."
I'm sure the person would have folded their hand.
How was your morning?
Generally unremarkable. I read Christopher Hitchens' description of his waterboarding. I looked at some equations, realised that I didn't know which stochastic calculus was being employed, nor whether it matters, and then went hunting through a box of papers for a paper that might answer that question.
I didn't find that paper, and now it is 12:08pm.
Hey, at least you weren't singing that Sarah Silverman song.
Yes, but as we both know .... I've done that too......
And then had to share the lift with the person who heard me doing so up to level 5.
I wish, Ben, someone had been around to point out the similarities between elevator etiquette and poker.....
sadly, they weren't.
In case anyone was curious, the line I stopped on was the "maybe it's like when a faggot calls himself a faggot" line.
Damn that song for having a catchy tune.
Fitz, I didn't realise how difficult it was to be you.
Also, Chris complains that you inflate your comment count by posting half the comments yourself.
To answer your question, I woke up and looked at my watch. I was unsurprised to find the time to be 3:03pm. I had wasted another morning.
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