GOING (st)UP(id)?
You're standing at the elevator doors, in the basement.
Waiting patiently, since you've already seen that a handsome Lieutenant Colonel-select has pushed the 'up' button.
So you have a purpose.
A reason for being there.
You obviously have somewhere to go.
Think about it.
It should be second nature.
Plan it out like a grand drama ready to unfold in front of you.
This is your broadway moment.
The doors will open.
You will walk in...
And PRESS the button that corresponds to the place you want to go.
*ding*
Empty.
Air Force guy goes first (we do, after all, say "service before self").
Four floors are numbered, plus the basement.
Air Force guy pushes "4".
You certainly don't want to push the basement button. That would be silly.
1?
Well, that's just lazy.
Besides.
You want to go to "3".
SO WHY THE HELL DO YOU PUSH "2"?
You had SIXTY-EIGHT SECONDS to prepare for that moment.
Sure, NOW push 3.
"Whoopsie," your body language seems to say.
No, no.
Don't push the "2" again hoping it will go off. It's not an Easy Bake Oven Light.
It's an elevator.
In case you'd forgotten.
Push a floor.
Go to the floor.
Just as the doors are closing on your mistake, someone else half-jogs towards us.
You're by the buttons, genius. Know what those arrows pointing away from each other mean?
Air Force guy sticks his arm out and barricades the closure.
"Thank you, sorry," says the lady and the guy pulling a briefcase behind him on wheels.
She pushes "1."
Yes.
Perhaps the little briefcase contained lead bars. Too heavy to go up the one flight of stairs.
But thanks to you,
genius,
the elevator will now stop
at every
single
floor.
Floor number 2 was especially entertaining, for its lack of anything happening at all, save for letting some air in.
You didn't look at the Air Force guy.
Just humbly pressed the button with the arrows pointing towards each other.
Doomed to your mutual fate.
The Air Force guy, his panini getting cold,
gets the shaft.
This is akin to being the first one in line at a stoplight. You have one responsibility. Look at the light.
Almost as bad as waiting in a long fast food line and waiting until you're at the register to figure out what you're gong to order.
Almost.
Sorry. Cranky. Test to take tomorrow. Boy got up at 7 on Saturday, 6 on Sunday, and 5:30 today.
Roll on, high school years.
Waiting patiently, since you've already seen that a handsome Lieutenant Colonel-select has pushed the 'up' button.
So you have a purpose.
A reason for being there.
You obviously have somewhere to go.
Think about it.
It should be second nature.
Plan it out like a grand drama ready to unfold in front of you.
This is your broadway moment.
The doors will open.
You will walk in...
And PRESS the button that corresponds to the place you want to go.
*ding*
Empty.
Air Force guy goes first (we do, after all, say "service before self").
Four floors are numbered, plus the basement.
Air Force guy pushes "4".
You certainly don't want to push the basement button. That would be silly.
1?
Well, that's just lazy.
Besides.
You want to go to "3".
SO WHY THE HELL DO YOU PUSH "2"?
You had SIXTY-EIGHT SECONDS to prepare for that moment.
Sure, NOW push 3.
"Whoopsie," your body language seems to say.
No, no.
Don't push the "2" again hoping it will go off. It's not an Easy Bake Oven Light.
It's an elevator.
In case you'd forgotten.
Push a floor.
Go to the floor.
Just as the doors are closing on your mistake, someone else half-jogs towards us.
You're by the buttons, genius. Know what those arrows pointing away from each other mean?
Air Force guy sticks his arm out and barricades the closure.
"Thank you, sorry," says the lady and the guy pulling a briefcase behind him on wheels.
She pushes "1."
Yes.
Perhaps the little briefcase contained lead bars. Too heavy to go up the one flight of stairs.
But thanks to you,
genius,
the elevator will now stop
at every
single
floor.
Floor number 2 was especially entertaining, for its lack of anything happening at all, save for letting some air in.
You didn't look at the Air Force guy.
Just humbly pressed the button with the arrows pointing towards each other.
Doomed to your mutual fate.
The Air Force guy, his panini getting cold,
gets the shaft.
This is akin to being the first one in line at a stoplight. You have one responsibility. Look at the light.
Almost as bad as waiting in a long fast food line and waiting until you're at the register to figure out what you're gong to order.
Almost.
Sorry. Cranky. Test to take tomorrow. Boy got up at 7 on Saturday, 6 on Sunday, and 5:30 today.
Roll on, high school years.
posted by Dan at 7:29 PM
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