they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

The Irony of the Elevator

I work in a corporate office building. There are several stairwells, but still, I insist upon taking the elevator. Even though the elevators are old and bumpy and usually smell like cashew chicken from the restaurant on the first floor. I take them every day and usually, flinch at least three times on the turbulent trip from the ground to the fourth floor. I really should start walking more. Because one of my greatest fears is being trapped in an old elevator for hours while really having to pee. Is it ironic that every time I'm riding in the old thing, my bladder is full? Maybe. It doesn't help that the elevators in my building are silent. Tunnels of silent travel, no music, hardly any riders - an abyss of sorts. But the hallways are another story. I'm always amazed at the music that pipes through invisible hallway speakers, beckoning tired workers back to the office. Just yesterday, I caught myself singing along to Snow Patrol as I walked from the bathroom back to the office (after I had just gotten off the elevator, of course.) And I wondered, do any of the older people I work with really even know who is singing and where in the heck can I get this soundtrack - it's incredible.


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