Days 10, 11, 12
"Christmas Wrapping" by The Waitresses
If you’re like me, then your nightmare comes true when someone gets on the elevator with you. I don’t feel like I have such a social paralysis that I exhibit any external change in behavior, but internally I’m quickly coming up with some type of game plan to avoid conversation. Part of my avoidance could be attributed to the fact that I’m surrounded by people all day and their conversations that they have all day that I hear when I’m not on the phone all day with people having conversations I’d rather not have all day. So, I’m just fresh out of general pleasantries.
|Writing this post. Pretty boring, right? I just wanted a pic on here.|
But, me being me, I smile (closed mouth, no teeth because that’s too inviting) and whisper “hey” and then immediately start checking my email on my phone. Like I’m busy. When in reality I’m just deleting the millions of ads I get from Bath & Body Works. The dread comes when they, despite my obvious “busy lady” image I’m working pretty hard to emit, engage me in conversation.
And now I have to participate. And it’s not even because these people live in my building, but because I have this insane inability to actually ever do what I want to do. And also because I try not to be a total bratty b to people who don’t deserve it. So for the ride up or down, I indulge them.
“Oh yeah, this weather, crazy huh?”
“Yep, Target is pretty awesome.”
“I can’t believe they’re mopping the lobby floors right now, either!”
“You passed out in the elevator and spilled your beer and everyone thought you let your dog pee in here? That’s crazy.”***
The only variable to this constant reaction I seem to have when the “door close” button doesn’t do its job, is if the person gets on with some type of animal. Then the phone’s away and I’m talking to the pet. And this, I’ve realized, is a wonderful ice breaker if you’d ever like to get to know me. I mean, I may never get past identifying you as the pet owner of that dog with the fluffy face, but I’ll be more likely to hold the “door open” button. Unless you’re a cute, witty guy—then I’ll be fantasizing about our quirky wedding where we use your dog as the ring bearer and everyone’s all like “Aww, the dog was how they met and it’s their ring bearer!” And even if I never know your name, your nickname will be one that’s indicative of a recognizable quality I found attractive in you. You know, more personal than”fluffy-faced dog owner.”
Anyways, Merry Christmas! (Had to tie the holiday theme into this post somehow. My transitions can’t always be graceful.)
***That last one really did happen. Only I didn’t respond to what this girl (who I can only describe as a Sweet Valley High/Mean Girl adult hybrid) told me, which I can only assume was an inside joke she thought I was a part of. And who, by the way, I managed to get trapped on the elevator with three times in one night. Her and her friends (who I can only describe as Dane Cook/Ken doll hybrids) increased in inebriety each time I saw them, which was great, because one thing I love more than riding the elevator with strangers is riding the elevator with drunk strangers who think we’re BFFs.