Love in an Elevator

Recently I was coming back to work after my daily Lean Cuisine lunch that I drive home for most days. Upon entering my office building with a belly full of Chicken with Basil Cream Sauce, I see a portly man walking into the "up" elevator that I was about to step on. This "gent" was about 5'7" and probably in his fifties. He looked as if he lived in a land where grease was an accessory and Denny's was Valentine's Day with the Missus. Let's just say I was pretty confident he didn't work in the law office across the hall.

Anyways, he held the door ajar as I stepped on. Our elevator doors in my building have a brass sheen that allows me to check my hair, makeup, and outfit when I'm alone in the elevator. When I am sharing the elevator ride, that awkward social hot box is an excellent place to study strangers and their social behavior. I use the reflection to occasionally glance at the other person in the elevator. I question whether the other person is doing the same, which they most likely are. I wonder where they're going and where they've been. Why did she wear that hideous Angela Bower blouse? Is he getting off on this floor? I wonder how old he is? Is he picturing me naked? If not, should I put my clothes back on?

When the doors closed I studied his brass reflection. He was leaning against the rail that was clearly installed along the back of the elevator to offer some degree of support to passengers. However, I think he was taking the rail's support for granted. Elevator Man was treating the rail as his best friend that he only calls when he needs money, but Rail is such a nice guy he just can't say no and ends up giving it to him even though Rail's water will be shut off and he hasn't bathed in weeks. As he was leaning on the rail he had his feet spread about two feet apart. You'd think we were going to be a while with how he relaxed in a matter of seconds.

I continued to watch him as he began to open a soda that I didn't realize he had. He cracks it open, takes a juicy swig, produces a loud swallow, and then quietly says, "You smell good."

His words cracked through the two-way mirror my subconscious had formed during my social study. I turned to him, gave an overcompensating smile, and said, "Thanks!" much too loudly. A man of few words I'm sure, or maybe because he could have fallen asleep at any moment, he had no words to follow his awkward comment. He only raised his right hand about chin-high as to say, "Don't worry about it. I'm not going to kill, rape, or touch you. I just wanted you to know that I very much enjoyed spending this short time on the elevator with you and your scent." Yes, it was a hand gesture of many words. Right as he lowered his hand, I heard a beautiful ding that only Zack Morris could identify with. I was saved, the doors parted, and I walked off the elevator.

I scurried to my office, sat at my computer, opened Internet Explorer and typed w-w-w-.-c-r-a-i-g-s-l-i-s-t-.-c-o-m. I then clicked Missed Connections and posted this message:


Subject:
Round, Greasy, Loved My Smell Man--w4m(26)


Message:

Sorry I didn't stay and chat on the elevator. I hope you read these. Message me. On our next ride we can go down! (giggle) (j/k) (ha) ;) ;) ;)