I get on the elevator to head down to the mall to get a bagel. I’m deeply engrossed in Creating Short Fiction, which is not uncommon for me. I read in elevators (and while waiting for the Au Bon Pan people to make my bagel). The elevator stops at the lobby and a guy gets in. The doors close and the elevators continue down to the mall level. As soon as this guy detects the elevator going down, he lets out an exasperated sigh, turns to me and says, “It’s going down. How come you didn’t say anything?”
I wanted to say, “I was reading a book, nut-job, and I didn’t even know you got in the elevator. Am I supposed to read your mind too?”
Instead, as the doors to the mall level start to open, I look up from my book, look at this guy, and say “Huh?”
People: for crying out loud, pay attention when you get into an elevator. And if you accidentally get into an elevator going in the wrong direction, don’t blame anyone but yourself!
I’ve talked about my recurring dreams about elevators in the past. I’ve also talked about how in my dreams, I tend to be afraid of heights while in real life, I have no fear of height or elevators. Last night I had what I consider to be an “anxiety” dream. Again, it’s probably nothing more than my brain committing short term memory to long term memory, but with anxiety involved, it evolves a bit more dramatically.
The dream involved the dinner this weekend and a W hotel in NYC. In the first part of the dream, I found out that my brother and his family’s flight was delayed and they wouldn’t make the dinner. I was really upset and I hung up on whoever I was talking to on the phone. (I rarely get very angry so clearly this was a dream.) Norm had reserved rooms for several of us at a W hotel in NYC (something he was actually kind enough to do). Me and someone else headed to the hotel and found that it was still under construction. A foreman had to take us up to our room in one of those temporary construction elevators. Turns out our hotel room was on the 98th floor and we had a long ride up in a rickety elevator, while the foreman explained just how rickety it was.
But it gets worse. The elevator only went to the 97th floor. To get to our room on the 98th floor, we had to use a hook to pull ourselves up onto the roof of the elevator and then climb into the room. Unbelievably, I did this, with all of Manhattan spread out below me. The person who I was with got half way up and got stuff. I went to grab her hand and she was basically dangling 98 floors above the ground with no one but me keeping her from falling. I finally got her into the room.
We had to stay on the west side of the room because if we moved to the east side, the building started to tilt in that direction and we were afraid it would tip over. What’s worse, there was no easy way to get back into the elevator car without making a dangerous climb 98 floors above the ground, so we were essentially stuck.
Anyway, that was the dream–maybe a low grade fever was involved in it’s manifestation, I don’t know. But I hate dreams like that.
Dear Person Who Nearly Knocked Me Over In the Elevator —
Please don’t walk onto the elevator as soon as the doors slide open. Hold back a moment, savor the experience, and see if there is, perhaps, anyone getting off the elevator before you get on. It makes life much more pleasant and it avoids nasty collisions.
How about some elevator etiquette, huh?
This happened as I got on the elevator a little while ago. I don’t know why, but elevator talk amuses me, perhaps because it is the USA Today of personal interaction.
Other occupant: Thanks for holding the door.
Me: No problem. How’s it going?
Other occupant: Not too bad, yourself?
Me: Keeping busy.
Other occupant: Do more with less. Then do more.
Me: Okay, well, take it easy.
Doors slides open. Exit stage left.