I am standing by the doors waiting. The light on the button panel is illuminated. I am running a bit behind schedule and starting to gripe inside about what is holding up the car. Out of the corner of my eye I notice another approaching. He walks up and pushes the elevator button that I have already clearly pushed. This one is starting to get on my nerves, but I let it go. I coolly have a sip of my delicious java beverage. Another few moments pass. The clock continues to advance. Finally, the doors open and we get in. I push the button for the fifth floor. My fellow lifter pushes the button for the second floor. I do a double take. Did this guy just wait for several minutes to call the elevator to go up just one floor? What nerve. What laziness. If only I had a garotte. Mr. Button pusher and his I-am-too-lazy-to-climb-one-flight-of-stairs attitude really grinds my gears. I think they should install microcomputers in every elevator so that it cannot go up or down just one floor without written notification from the president (or his mother). This type of behavior borders on idiocy. Instead of being able to mindlessly lean up against the wall and pass the time, I have to go over and push the button to close the elevator doors. I am now later for my meeting as well. What about the poor simps who get off on this floor because they are not paying attention? Then they have to go through the whole charade of pretending that they meant to get off on that floor, all the while making complete fools of themselves as anyone with half a brain can clearly see what has happened. Those left inside the car then give the obligatory smirk as the doors slowly close, sealing the outsider's fate. The next time some joker gets on your elevator and pushes the button to go just one floor, I believe it is your duty, nay, your right, to exhale in a clearly audible manner, thus letting this inconsiderate boob know that you know.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Grind My Gears IV
I am standing by the doors waiting. The light on the button panel is illuminated. I am running a bit behind schedule and starting to gripe inside about what is holding up the car. Out of the corner of my eye I notice another approaching. He walks up and pushes the elevator button that I have already clearly pushed. This one is starting to get on my nerves, but I let it go. I coolly have a sip of my delicious java beverage. Another few moments pass. The clock continues to advance. Finally, the doors open and we get in. I push the button for the fifth floor. My fellow lifter pushes the button for the second floor. I do a double take. Did this guy just wait for several minutes to call the elevator to go up just one floor? What nerve. What laziness. If only I had a garotte. Mr. Button pusher and his I-am-too-lazy-to-climb-one-flight-of-stairs attitude really grinds my gears. I think they should install microcomputers in every elevator so that it cannot go up or down just one floor without written notification from the president (or his mother). This type of behavior borders on idiocy. Instead of being able to mindlessly lean up against the wall and pass the time, I have to go over and push the button to close the elevator doors. I am now later for my meeting as well. What about the poor simps who get off on this floor because they are not paying attention? Then they have to go through the whole charade of pretending that they meant to get off on that floor, all the while making complete fools of themselves as anyone with half a brain can clearly see what has happened. Those left inside the car then give the obligatory smirk as the doors slowly close, sealing the outsider's fate. The next time some joker gets on your elevator and pushes the button to go just one floor, I believe it is your duty, nay, your right, to exhale in a clearly audible manner, thus letting this inconsiderate boob know that you know.
