“Oh man, I don’t think you’re supposed to press ALL the buttons.”
“IT’S NOT MY JOB TO KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THE ELEVATOR BUTTONS! IT’S YOUR JOB TO KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THE ELEVATOR BUTTONS!” For someone who is the opposite of a hot mess, I am starting to feel especially steamed.
“It’s not, actually. I have no idea how to get you out.”
“But you said you work—”
“I work here, yeah. But I have nothing to do with maintenance or… gosh, I don’t even know whose jurisdiction it is to rescue people from stuck elevators. Fire department maybe?”
“Will you please stop saying the word rescue? It makes me feel like a puppy. Or a Disney princess.”
“Now, what exactly is wrong with either one of those fantastic things?”
“Absolutely nothing is wrong with rescue puppies. From now until the end of time, yes, please Adopt Don’t Shop.”
“Agreed.”
“Disney princesses, however, are royally fucked.”
“What? No! Jasmine is the best!”
“Jasmine fan, huh?”
“Course!”
“Let me guess. The seafoam bra top and the dip in her translucent jammie pants really do it for ya?”
“No, actually. The fact that she gives Aladdin shit when he lies to her, tells her dad to screw off when he tries to control her, tells Jafar to his face he’s a punk who’d never deserve a woman of her caliber, oh and the adorable, gentle relationship she has with a fierce jungle cat who would do anything for her – those things do it for me.”
“Interesting. The, uh… the, um… the fierce jungle cat who would do anything for her? His name is Raja, by the way.”
“You don’t have to tell me, lady.”
“Seriously, quit with the lady stuff.”
“Okay.”
“You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Because there was silence for a second.”
“I’m not one of those people who fears silence and feels the need to fill it.”
“Oh. Yeah. Neither am I.”
“Did you just sit down? It sounded like you just sat down.”
“Well, it seems we’re going to be here a while, yeah?”
“You’re going to wait with me?”
“Course.”
“Oh. Well, that’s… that’s really nice. Thank you. I just pressed all the buttons again, so—”
“You gotta stop doing that!”
“You gotta stop telling me what to do! “
“A’ight. A’ight. Did you just sit down too?”
“Yeah. This floor is heinous, but what the hell. Hey, um. Did you just say a’ight a moment ago?”
“I think so?”
“Why?”
“Dunno. Trying it out, I guess?”
“Yeah, don’t do that. Doesn’t sound right from you. You’re clearly not an a’ight kind of guy.”
“How can you tell?
“Just a… a feeling I get from you.”
“Oh.”
Some of that silence descends between us again. I break it.
“Anyway… I’m sure the maintenance guys, or the firemen, or whoever’s jurisdiction it is to understand elevator buttons will be here any minute.”
“I hope not.”
“What?”
“Huh?”
Okay, can we take a time-out for a moment? Is anyone else hearing this man’s voice? This man’s delightful, honey-buttered, rumbly-crumbly-croissant, warm-hazelnut-coffee-on-a-Monday-morning voice? Hm. I must be hungry. I should’ve pre-gamed this morning and thrown a hard-boiled egg down the hatch or something. But don’t worry. They’re serving breakfast refreshments at the orientation, so I’ll be all good. If I ever get there of course. But even if I wasn’t hungry? Goddamn… this delicious voice of his would still fill. Me. Up. And that whole “I hope not” moment was definitely flirtatious, wasn’t it? Oh shit, I think he just asked me something requiring a response.
“Sorry, what?”
“I was just asking you if—”
“Wait. I just used an unnecessary sorry as a filler. I need to start over. ‘Fuck you, what?’ There, that’s better.”
“What?”
“Damn, I took that re-do too far, didn’t I? Now I really am sorry.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Before, I said, ‘Sorry, what?’”
“So?”
“Women use the word sorry as a filler way too often. Men don’t do that. Do you do that?”
“I don’t even know what you’re—”
“‘Sorry, could you pass the pepper?’ ‘Sorry, would you mind if I skootched by?’ ‘Sorry, but your massive man thigh is crushing my leg and your not-massive man sac clearly doesn’t need that much room to breathe.’ ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry.’ I have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”
“No, you absolutely don’t. Okay, I get it. So, let’s go back a bit then and give you a chance to redeem yourself. I was talking… You were ignoring me…”
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just…”
“Just…?”
“Well, I guess for a second, I just got a little… I dunno… lost in the sound of your…”
“Voice? You like the sound of my voice?” He suddenly sounds like a demented grizzly bear.
“Well, not when you deepen it like that! What the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t know! You said you liked my voice, so suddenly, I couldn’t speak normally anymore. I guess I was trying to man it up.”
“Well, then man it back down, dude.”
“Like this?”
Ah, that’s better. He’s back to his regularly scheduled rumbly-crumbly-make-my-belly-tumbly programming. Ew. Why am I thinking this way? I sound like a love-sick Dr. Seuss. Get it together, girlfriend.
“Sure. Like that, yeah. That sounds… whatever. Yeah.”