Choix du jour.
Choix du jour.
I have a slight fear for elevators. Ever since I stepped into one which had my family and I on a dark Solero-Space-Shot-like ride, I have learned to not trust the machines anymore. Escalator, or elevator? I would choose the former easily. So no, I hope I will not have to choose to live in a fifty-storey apartment, or work on the seventy-third floor of a corporate building. I can only climb the stairs up to the fifth floor, I think.. and it would take a bit more of practice for me to totally embrace their existence again, I guess.
It is not that I will casually walk into it, jab a finger on the button, and wait patiently until it stops at the desired floor. I tend to step in quickly, lightly press on the button, and lean against the cold steel. Getting squashed by those elevator doors does not sound very nice – in fact, it reminds me of sandwiches. I get a bit paranoid at times, particularly when I am alone in it. What if it broke down? Am I suppose to climb through the opening above ala Matrix? What if a stranger walks in, and there is more to him than meets the eye?
There was once I paid a visit to a friend’s apartment along with my other friends. When we got into the elevator to get to the car park, a friend of mine mischievously jabbed her fingers on the buttons to all the other floors below us. We stared daggers at her as the elevator stopped one floor at a time, opening the doors to passengers that were never there – making a total of seven unnecessary stops. Now we know why some of these machines tend to break down, and we can have only ourselves to blame.
And what is it with people rushing in when the elevator door opens? I thought we were supposed to make way for them first by stepping out of the elevator, so that they could have a place in. Some would practically flew in before the ones inside the elevator could hardly make a move. They would then pretend to be staring hard at their feet or have their eyes fixed on a black smudge somewhere above when the elevator doors proceeded to close before its occupants fully got out (and having the doors hitting one or two of them in the process). I do not suppose it would hurt to lift a finger and pressed on the door open button. It is only common courtesy to do so.
One thing I have always found funny about elevators is the deafening silence, save for the occassional creaks as the elevator moves slowly to the desired floor. I had a hard time stiffling a giggle as I observed the quiet situation. It seems that we would automatically stop talking when we step into one. Unless, of course, we happen to get onto one with screaming kids, bawling babies, and gossipy ladies. Perhaps a businessmen or two could be found yelling into their cellphones in exasperation when they failed to secure a business deal at that very moment, as the cellphone reception diminishes.
Another night out at Swenson’s, this time for a Giant Earthquake – with the family. I do not think I would like to head out to Swenson’s on Tuesday nights anymore – it seems to me that I am bound to see someone I know there – I do not blame everyone else flocking the place for the sake of a 50% discount on the eight big scoops of ice-cream, and of different flavours at that too. I saw a high school ex-classmate yesterday evening – oh well, at least I thought it looked like her. We were not that close, and know each other only on a name-to-name basis. I feigned ignorance – I knew that was bad – but she did not give a damn, anyway. I have had enough of those six-degrees-of-separation stories – or maybe it is just that I fear I will encounter more of those.
Updates on Blog: The Gathering #2: I am not sure if I will be going or not.. if I am not present, you can expect to see someone else taking over the uh, ‘organising’ duties. At the moment, I am still hovering between a yes or a no. Movies are out of the question unless I can be totally sure who is going, and who is not.
On air now: Invalid Litter Dept., At The Drive-In