One of the few quirky (and possibly dumb) things that makes me super happy happened a few days ago.
My closet-sized studio is on the 19th floor of my 34 story apartment building. Statistically, approximately half the people getting into the elevator with me should hit a button less than 19. The other half should hit 19 or a higher floor. Now, it irks me to no end when I find people taking the elevator to go to the 1st floor or taking the elevator down or up 1 storey instead of hauling their lazy asses to the up/down 1 flight of stairs. Don’t get me wrong- this irritation is only reserved for people who aren’t 80 or don’t have a broken leg.
Coming back to my point, the other day, I get back from my run and hop into the elevator along with a motley crew of other punks who live in my building. I hit 19 and moved to the back of the elevator. And one by one, the others start punching in their floor buttons. 23. 34. “Woah!”, screamed my mind and promptly jumped out of its lethargic stupor. There were 4 (5, if you count the little girl accompanying her mommy) more people who needed to push their floor buttons. “Nah, I can”t be that lucky!”, I wondered. Next up, two dudes, one of whom wasn’t aware that deodorants were in existence for over a 100 years. Smelly-dude hits floor 30. Not-so-smelly-dude checks out all the buttons for a good 10 seconds. After a brief look of confusion on his face, it dawns on him that 23 was already lit up. Phew! The mommy-daughter pair didn’t waste much time. They entered the car, mommy hits 34 and picks up daughter to make place in the elevator.
Finally, the moment of truth. A tall, blonde, sharply dressed pyt steps into the elevator. She raises her slender arm towards the buttons, I can’t decide whether to admire her gorgeous hair or watch her manicured index finger as it inches towards the button that could possibly end my dream run. My heart was pounding in anticipation of what I hoped would be my glorious victory over the elevator cynics. My eyeballs oscillated from her finger to the partial of her face that was visible to me. Face. Finger. Finger. Face. Face. Finger. Finger Face. Drumroll. 27. Woohooo! My brain started to do the bhangra and my face wore a massive smile. My fellow occupants in the elevator were starting to get creeped out. But I didn’t care. As the elevator screeched to halt on 19, I could hear the others groan as they shuffled to make place for me to exit the car. Hah! Sweet vengeance!
Cheap thrills I tell you. Sigh!
