15th floor- I enter.
I know I have 14 floors to make it to my sweet and beloved ground floor, ideally without bumping into any of my fellow condo-dwellers. But I know this is a Herculean task. It is 8:30AM.
13th floor - Woman and dog enter.
I know exactly what I’m looking at, but I’m trying to use Brené Brown’s power of vulnerability to say something more meaningful like what are some of your goals this summer? Instead, out of fear of silence, I say,
“What kind of dog is it?”
The lady says, “A golden retriever,” probably thinking I got my keys to planet Earth just yesterday.
C’mon, of course I know what a golden retriever is, I have one I’m neglecting in my own apartment.
12th floor - Silence.
11th floor - Silence grows louder.
I’m so uncomfortable and the pup can sense it. I swear I saw its paw pull at its collar like yikes, tough crowd. I can barely breathe. I blurt out,
“Is it a he or she?”
“He.”
“No way!” While in my head I think, of course way! I saw its little dog weiner when it came in.
10th floor- Runner enters.
Phew… now I’m not the only one responsible for making conversation. Let’s see what he’s got.
9th floor- Silence.
I can’t take it anymore.
“Going for a run?” I ask.
He’s wearing running shorts, running shoes, and a shirt that says 10K. I think the K stands for Kill me right here, right now.
“Yep,” he says.
8th floor- Door opens, no one enters.
I try the only thing within my power to make this ride go any faster. I spring for the ‘door close’ button, but my finger hits floor 3 by accident. Welp, that’s it! Now I have to get off at 3, because it would be too embarrassing to admit I’m a human.
I want to take the dog’s squirt bottle and spray myself with it. Bad girl, bad!
6th floor - No one enters.
“Almost Friday!” I cry out.
It’s Monday. I’m a wreck.
5th floor - Woman enters.
I can’t keep my mouth shut,
“Is it supposed to rain today?”
I’M LITERALLY WEARING A RAIN JACKET
Everyone politely nods.
FUCCCK ME.
The humiliation causes me to slip in an out of consciousness and I try to fix my eyes on something to regain balance. I look at the ‘maximum capacity’ and I’m not sure if it says ‘900kg or 3 people who have nothing in common.’
4th floor - Man enters.
I’m drowning in embarrassment and grasping at anything to stay alive. “Did you watch the game?”
“Which one?” he says.
3rd floor- My forced exit.
As the doors open, I can see my refuge at the end of the hallway, the emergency staircase.
As the elevator doors close, I faintly say:
“The one where the team won,”
I know that doesn’t make sense but I’m finally comfortable cause the silence of a staircase is one I can live with.