I get on the elevator at work, dutifully punch in my floor number, and stand scrunched to myself off to the back, trying not to make physical contact with anyone else in such close quarters.
Promptly, the elevator jolts hard, then stops, apparently mid-floor. No movement at all, punching buttons does nothing. So, we all stand around like schmucks, looking at each other, as if we don’t know what to do.
From the other side of the elevator, delivered by the woman with the fifth-of-whiskey-and-two-packs-a-day voice, with a perfect mix of exasperation and an odd nonchalant aspect:
“Well, don’t *THAT * just fuck it all up today.”
Step two: I bite my lip so I don’t laugh. Two guys in the front start talking to each other in artificially loud voices, trying to diagnose a problem about which they obviously know nothing (and neither do I), and no one acknowledges the fecking hilarious comment.
Guy near the front opens the little metal door and gets on the phone to call for help, and the elevator suddenly comes to life again. I get off at the first floor on which the elevator stops (not my floor - I took the stairs the rest of the way) and have a good laughing jag in the stairwell.
