My office building has two parking levels and six floors for a total of eight destinations reachable by the elevator. There are four elevators in the elevator bank. The people in my building would rather be vivisected alive than hold the elevator. And if you are inside the elevator and attempt to hold the elevator for someone else, they will take your life. I'm serious. They will descend on you like a pack of dogs and crush the life from your sad helpless carcass.

I don't know why this is so, I just know that it is. I think it has something to do with the New York suburbs, but I can't be entirely certain. The folk in south Jersey have their hang ups too.

Anyway, I've been trying to subtly buck the prevailing elevator culture. This morning, I held the elevator at the parking level for an old woman who moved a bit slowly. She shuffled amicably onto the elevator and thanked me graciously. Somewhere in the back of the elevator I heard the threatening click of a switch blade.

Yesterday I hung to the back of the elevator crowd and made sure I was among the last to get on. Then I stood right in the front of the elevator with my back to the door, staring down the sad looking office cogs. It didn't take long before they started shifting uncomfortably and turning to look at the sides of the elevator.

I don't really have an end to this entry.

So bye.

Posted at 10:53 a.m.

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