The Elevator: Part I

I don’t hold the elevator. Sue me. In fact, if I see people coming, I hit the close button. Because I’m always in a rush, and if I wait for them, 10 more people come in and they all stop at floors before mine, because mine is the highest. And I’m late anyway so the 10 stops will make me 3 minutes later and prevent me from getting my first cup of Starbucks. I am also claustrophobic. In fact, if too many people come in, I get out. Really. Body heat bothers me. People telling me their life stories through their continued cell phone conversations REALLY bothers me. I don’t give a crap if they are going out that night with some hot guy even if I’m not. So, I start talking loudly… to myself. I don’t even bother with my cell phone. Let them think it’s Bluetooth. And then they see that I don’t have one, so they think they are with a crazy person and they get real silent. Finally, you asshole.So, I don’t hold the elevator.

Except, when the little old lady with the walker takes 15 minutes to get to the elevator. Her, I hold it for. Because I want someone to hold it for me when I have the walker.