Words Between The Button Pushers

[I am already in the elevator when SHE enters.]

Me: “Where ya goin’?”
Her: “Seventh floor, but I’ll pre-“

[I press the button for the seventh floor.]

Me: “No problem, I got it.”

[She stares at me, seemingly annoyed, then the doors to the elevator close. A few seconds later-]

Her: “I said I was going to press it.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Her: “The button. For the seventh floor. I said I was going to press it.”
Me: “Ok.”
Her: “But YOU pressed it.”
Me: “I was doing you a favor.”
Her: “Well the next time doing favors for someone involves pressing an elevator button after someone else expresses their desire to press the button themselves, maybe you should leave well enough alone.”
Me: “You’re kidding, right?”
Her: “I don’t kid about someone pushing my buttons.”

Today’s Prognosis on Rude Doctor-In-The-House Restaurant Yellers

You’ve seen it happen, at least on TV.

A bunch of people are all having a quaint, quiet, cultured dinner at a high-profile restaurant. Wine is being poured, meals are being prepared, couples are looking longingly into each other’s eyes. A four piece mini-orchestra plays Mozart, candles glow throughout the room, and somewhere a woman with roses makes her way through the crowd. And then, out of nowhere, crashing glasses accompany someone shouting “Is there a doctor in the house!?”

Rude. Totally rude.

I Could Be Your Elevator Door Holder

My job would require standing in an elevator all day long.

No, I would not be the guy pressing the buttons. No, I would not be shouting out what’s on this floor and oh, here comes that floor and nice weather we’re having. No, I wouldn’t know how the red phone works or why it’s red and I wouldn’t spend time keeping track of the elevator’s capacity and how many people can or should be inside.

But I could be your elevator door holder — and you’d love me for it.

If I Were Trapped In An Elevator With A Pregnant Woman

If I were trapped in an elevator with a pregnant woman, well, we’d both pretty much be screwed.

For one, contrary to popular belief, no matter how many times I have seen people help pregnant women give birth in a trapped elevator on shows ranging from ER to Emergency to a myriad of sitcoms — I still have NO damn idea what to do. All I can figure out, from watching said birthing programs is that as the birthER (not the birthEE), you must follow these guidelines:

Elevators: Microcosm of Society or Stinky Germ Receptacle?

I have mentioned escalators previously, which has absolutely nothing to do with today’s discussion about elevators.

Stepping into an elevator is, I believe, a total microcosm of today’s world, with its distinct personalities and conflicts. Ride one from floor #1 all the way up to the penthouse on a busy day in a busy building and you will see and experience anything that you would in the real world. Just, without the space.

And so without further ado – I give you “The World as a Microcosm in an Elevator and the Personalities Within.” I think you’ll agree, that you have come in contact with these people more than once…