Dear Mr. Man on the Elevator who was apparently incapable of taking the stairs for one flight,
Seriously? I mean, really? You HAD to take the elevator from the first floor to the second? The stairs that are located not five feet from the elevator were too difficult to get to? So, really? When I was standing in the elevator, traveling from the 1st lower level to the 3rd floor, backed up into a corner of the elevator, blocked in by a girl who apparently does not have a normal sense of necessary personal space, standing uncomfortably close to her even though we were the only two people on the elevator and there was plenty of space for us to stand at a comfortable distance from each other, feeling nauseated from being past hungry, holding my salmon Florentine soup, you had to stop us on the 1st floor, so that you could stop us again on the 2nd floor? Normally, I would be sympathetic. I mean, honestly, how often am I too lazy to take the stairs for one flight? It's embarrassing to admit just how often that is. But today I'm bored, tired, don't want to be here, hungry, worried about how much I eat. Today I got the salmon Florentine soup from the cafeteria because it was the only non-creamy soup besides the Ham & Bean, which apparently calls for a 2:1 ratio of salt to all other ingredients. Mr. Man on the Elevator, I didn't feel like eating pure sodium for lunch, so I ordered the salmon soup, knowing that I don't like seafood, nor do I like floating seafood, making a feeble attempt choosing well, or at least making a better choice than the cream of broccoli, or the creamy chicken noodle soup. And I nixed my typical sourdough roll in the hopes that I wouldn't miss it, but my body would notice the disappearance of the bread and thereby magically allow me to lose enough weight to fit in my skirts so that I can zip them all the way up by tomorrow morning when I have to get dressed again for work. So, Mr. Man, I was feeling nauseated and head-achy and apprehensive about my soup choice when you so thoughtlessly decided to take the elevator for one floor. Which is why I did not greet you with anything other than a look of disbelief. And, is also why I did not exchange pleasantries with Miss StandsTooCloseinConfinedSpaces when I got off the elevator. And now I'm in my office, eating my fishy soup, hoping that the smell in my office for the rest of the day will be worth it, hoping that pants will fit better this afternoon, that magically I will not have protruding muffin top because I did not eat the creamy soup and I skipped the bread, that my good choices right now will have positive consequences immediately, hoping that my migraine-induced nausea will go away, and my headache will disappear, and I won't feel so bored this afternoon as I've felt this morning.
So, Mr. Man on the Elevator, dear Mr. Man, please forgive my rather ordinary manners. I hope that next time we meet, you will not be so thoughtless, or that I will not be so grumpy. Or maybe next time, I can take the stairs.