Day 17 (moxie-filled old lady in an elevator)
Day 17
I was sort of hung over today, but the thing about working with dogs is, they never notice.
Last night was the bar’s holiday extravaganza- a bunch of bands, burlesque dancers, and for me, at least, too many shots of Maker’s Mark. We’d run out of Jameson halfway through the evening.
Fortunately, it was the kind of hangover that’s essentially won over by a large coffee, and the weather was mild and sunny, so that helped, too.
It was unexpectedly pay day as well. Apparently the payroll people get one hell of a holiday vacation, because the next time I’ll see a check won’t be for three more weeks.
There was the best woman on the elevator this afternoon, in the building where Dogs 4 & 5 live. I’d seen her a bunch of times before, always in the lobby at the mailboxes in mid-day, always in fuzzy black slippers. I mean, really fuzzy. The type of material used to make gorilla suits. She’s got to be in her 70s, solidly built, grey-haired. She has an air of toughness to her.
So, we both got into the painfully slow elevator, and the first door slowly closed. There was a pause before the inner door began its tedious slide shut, and the woman sighed and stared up at the ceiling.
“Come on, already. Slowest elevator in town!” she said.
Behind her, I started laughing. She could’ve said “in the world” or “ever”, but the fact that she’d called it the slowest elevator in town cracked me up. There was something of vaudeville in her delivery.
She turned to me, snickering in the corner, and reached out to sort of sock me in the arm.
“If anyone wanted to murder you, they’d be done with it by the time the doors shut!” she said, gesturing towards them, starting to laugh.
I nodded, grinned. The elevator slowly rose.
“You’d be done before the doors shut.”
“Yup.” I said.
“Ah- I’ve only been telling them for the 39 years I’ve lived in this building.” She said, not particularly bitterly.
The car came to an eventual halt at her floor.
“Oh. Well, maybe they’ll fix it next year.” I said.
The door slid back, and she turned to look at me. When she saw me smiling, she knew I was giving her fuel.
“Hah!” she said, as she swung back the outside door and strode out into the hallway.
I kept laughing in the elevator by myself.
I was sort of hung over today, but the thing about working with dogs is, they never notice.
Last night was the bar’s holiday extravaganza- a bunch of bands, burlesque dancers, and for me, at least, too many shots of Maker’s Mark. We’d run out of Jameson halfway through the evening.
Fortunately, it was the kind of hangover that’s essentially won over by a large coffee, and the weather was mild and sunny, so that helped, too.
It was unexpectedly pay day as well. Apparently the payroll people get one hell of a holiday vacation, because the next time I’ll see a check won’t be for three more weeks.
There was the best woman on the elevator this afternoon, in the building where Dogs 4 & 5 live. I’d seen her a bunch of times before, always in the lobby at the mailboxes in mid-day, always in fuzzy black slippers. I mean, really fuzzy. The type of material used to make gorilla suits. She’s got to be in her 70s, solidly built, grey-haired. She has an air of toughness to her.
So, we both got into the painfully slow elevator, and the first door slowly closed. There was a pause before the inner door began its tedious slide shut, and the woman sighed and stared up at the ceiling.
“Come on, already. Slowest elevator in town!” she said.
Behind her, I started laughing. She could’ve said “in the world” or “ever”, but the fact that she’d called it the slowest elevator in town cracked me up. There was something of vaudeville in her delivery.
She turned to me, snickering in the corner, and reached out to sort of sock me in the arm.
“If anyone wanted to murder you, they’d be done with it by the time the doors shut!” she said, gesturing towards them, starting to laugh.
I nodded, grinned. The elevator slowly rose.
“You’d be done before the doors shut.”
“Yup.” I said.
“Ah- I’ve only been telling them for the 39 years I’ve lived in this building.” She said, not particularly bitterly.
The car came to an eventual halt at her floor.
“Oh. Well, maybe they’ll fix it next year.” I said.
The door slid back, and she turned to look at me. When she saw me smiling, she knew I was giving her fuel.
“Hah!” she said, as she swung back the outside door and strode out into the hallway.
I kept laughing in the elevator by myself.
posted by Unleashed at 8:51 PM
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