I always get a little freaked out when I get into an elevator and push the button for my floor, and then someone else gets on after me and doesn’t push a button. I wonder, “Does he really need to go to my floor, or is he going to follow me to my apartment, tie me up in the bathtub, and drip acid on my naked body for nine hours?”
It happened yesterday as I was going to Kamran’s apartment after work. I stepped in, pushed the button for my floor, smiled politely at the man who came in after me, and then glared at him menacingly when he didn’t push anything. In my mind. I pictured myself jabbing my keys into his eyes if he came too close, snapping my compact mirror around his balls if he stopped near Kamran’s door.
But just before the elevator doors closed, an extremely hot girl walked in and pushed the button for a floor two below Kamran’s. She was taller than I am, thinner than I am, wearing fewer clothes than I was, and had a less butch haircut than I do. She was chatting obnoxiously on her cellphone, and when the elevator stopped at her floor, she didn’t even notice that the guy followed her off instead.
And I cheated death another day.