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June 2, 2005
Who Else Says That?
So I went downstairs yesterday for some Tylenol Cold & Sinus and a Gatorade(for some reason that drink, the lemon-lime flavor especially, is something I always associate with sickness...thank you childhood). There's a sundry shop in the lobby that some people call a newstand, but I think "sundry shop" is much more appropriate. The man who owns the shop is named Sam, and he's from Iran, which almost rhymes (sometimes I laugh to myself when I think about this...Sam from Iran). Sam's the nicest guy you would ever want to meet, a true gentleman who takes time to get to know each person who comes in his shop, and conversely, everyone gets to know Sam. I should also mention that Sam's prices are way too high (like fifty cents for a postage stamp and three dollars for a tin of Altoids), but because he's such a great guy, and because it's more convenient than leaving the building when you need a greeting card, condoms or a Twix bar, we all spend our loose change and crumpled dollar bills with Sam. Now, I have no doubt that, were I to come into the building shirtless, Sam would generously offer me his...he'd also smile and tell me to "have a wonderful and blessed day" as he charged me six dollars for a pound of gummy worms. But, as much as I like Sam, this post isn't about him...his little shop, little shop of sundries is only the means to an end. The action really took place after I left Sam's.
There were seven or eight people on the elevator when I stepped back on...a full house (you'll soon learn how ironic that statement is) for sure, but someone had been kind enough to hold the door for me, so I got on. I immediately did what you're suppossed to: I pressed my button and turned around, looking my reflection square in the eye. Now let me go ahead and publicly confess that I think it painfully awkward and even slightly creepy to banter with people you don't know on the elevator (unless the elevator gets stuck, at which point someone will undoubtedly break out the chips and salsa and we'll all become fast friends), in fact, I think total silence on the elevator is great. Our elevators have little television screens that allow you catch fifteen seconds of news, celebrity gossip and a word of the day all on the ride up to your office...brilliant We can all watch the TV, or look at the numbers as we hit each floor, but please dear friends, don't begin introducing yourself, cracking jokes or pontificating on the new pontif...have a little bit of self control and respect for the humanity around you. Now if you'd like to chat or play the name game once we get off the elevator by all means do so, I'd like nothing better...but the elevator is almost like a sanctuary, a quiet refuge in the middle of a phone ringing, fax sending, e-mail receiving jungle. I don't want to assume too much of people, but I get the feeling that most people understand and abide by this unspoken code. But, as with everything, there's always an exception.
We passed floors two and three without a glitch, but as we approached the fourth floor someone, some man with a fairly deep voice, exclaimed "Have mercy!" I looked over my shoulder, just as you would have done, with curiously raised eyebrows, fully expecting to see Uncle Jesse standing behind me, because really, who else says that? I observed three things:
1) We all looked at the same guy, indicating it was he who had asked for mercy.
2) The man we were all looking at was not John Stamos.
3) He was, however, completely engrossed in the aforementioned TV screen and had apparently, in a moment of shock and awe (news of Pacey and Dawson beating up an unsuspecting Tom Cruise perhaps?), lost all self-awareness. I don't think he even knew we looked at him.
Aruba, Jamaica / ooh I wanna take you to / Bermuda, Bahama / come on pretty momma / Key Largo, Montego / baby why don't we go / down to Kokomo / we'll get there fast / and then we'll take it slow / that's where we wanna go...way down to Kokomo
| By micah | 6:58 AM