Elevator etiquette

I was in Chicago this week for work and some fantastic play with even more fantastic friends. All work and no play and whatnot...... On Friday morning, I left my hotel room with an overstuffed shoulder bag and my suitcase on wheels. I pressed the down button and stood on the rightish end of the three elevator bank when, as I might have predicted, the far left elevator door opened. I hustled to the open elevator door, which began closing just as I got there. Thinking quickly, I jammed my elevator closing preventer device (a.k.a. my suitcase on wheels, which maybe doesn't even need the "on wheels" clarification because come to think of it I think they all have wheels now....) between the closing doors. Then I used my hands to push the doors apart, which usually works, right? But this time it wasn't working. Using all the strength I could muster, the doors were not budging. I glanced up to notice through the crack made by my suitcase that the back wall of the elevator was a mirror, and in that mirror I saw a tall, thin man who was trying to push himself against the side wall of the elevator so that I wouldn't see his reflection, (which too bad for him, I did), instead of pushing what he should have been pushing - the > < button to open the f'ing door! Come on!! With my suitcase firmly lodged between the doors and my attempts at prying the doors any further open futile, I semi-hysterically squealed, "Would you push the door open button?!!?!!" And just like that, the doors sailed open, welcoming me into an eleven floor ride with this misanthrope who was on the threshold of turning me into one of him.

I spent our silent little journey to the lobby thinking about what I would like to say to him about what I hoped he learned from this experience and how he had the whole rest of the day to think about how he could make up for his karmic debt (okay, I know I'm overblowing, in a big way, the bad nature of his act, which was little more than impolite, but at the time it felt more like a rejection of humanity). Thinking, as we rode in silence for eleven floors. And thinking still about what the perfect thing to say would have been - just the right proportions to induce sting and guilt. Not so much to allow for defensiveness. And when I finally figure that out, I will begin to tell others my story just for the pleasure of including my perfect reaction as if it really occurred in real time.

Passwords

Yep. Figured out my google password. I would have been writing everyday, but I was locked out. Totally not my fault. Why, Google, do you conspire to keep me from blogging by requiring a pesky password? But here I am. With nothing to say. Gotcha!