As my stay ends in a building I have worked in for rouly five years, I have had many "rendezvous" in the elevator. While I wouldn't describe my interactions in the same context as Nikki did, I will say that my 10+ seconds in the elevator created some funny moments for me.
The "This must be my floor" Lady
I work(ed) on the sixth floor of a seven story building - when you include the basement. I would arrive at work, which is the main floor, with the basement below. Since the bzsement includes a food bar, as well s another entrance to the building, there is a lot of people that end up being in the elevator when I am ready to
board one floor later.
There is one lady who almost always would try to get off on the first floor, when I get on. She would be coming from the basement, one floor below. When I got on, I would notice that only the number six was illuminated. So essentially, this woman would think that, after entering the elevator on at the basement level, then going up only one floor, that she was instantly on the sixth floor. I could understand this happening once, but I notice this behavior from the same lady several times.
Actually, this person is not an American; they are of another nationality but for me to provide a description of their ethnicity would give away (at least very closely) who the person is (or might be) and I don't want to get close to "naming names".
This person is quite delightful, actually. I like their personality, as strange as it may seem.
This person is also on my floor. I see them often in passing and I always say hi even if this person barely acknowledges me.
Around lunch, there is usually a crowd of people waiting near the elevator. They are usually waiting for the rest of their peers to join them before they actually go _into_ the elevator. It took me a bit before I figured this out.
One day, I got to the elevator with that "crew" hanging back away from the elevator. The button wasn't pushed to "call" for the elevator so I pushed it, waited in front of the doors, then walked on when the doors opened.
The American and a few others got on. The elevator starts to go down. And this is the conversation that takes place:
The American, looking at me: You got on first.
me: Yup. That's what I try to do.
The American: How rude.
me: Another goal for me.
So I answered as sarcastic as possible, since I was very much confused as to what I might have done that they determined was rude. I decided that this person was not particularly fond of me, for some reason that I was not aware of.
Later...way later...like weeks, maybe even months...I was coming down some stairs in the parking lot. I stopped at where the sidewalk ends and the road begins because, peripherally, I saw a car coming down my way. The car driver, upon coming upon me, actually had a look of shock on their face when they saw me because they really were not paying attention to pedestrian activity.
I waved them along, not concerned since *I* knew they were coming and prevented myself from being hit.
That afternoon, the American and I ended up in the elevator again. I just stood there, not wanting to make conversation with a person who apparently has such disdain for me. The American then said to me "I almost killed you today", which actually made me laugh.
Maybe that was a good thing as they seemed to lighten up a bit with me after that. They would actually allow me to get on or off the elevator before they got on, so I guess me getting on first was no longer considered rude.
Mon Cherie Man
This is someone I chatted with often...in the elevators. One day, I saw him in the basement, as I got off the elevator. He walked away into a hallway and I went to grab some food at the food bar. As I got back to the elevator to wait for it, he showed up -- like he went around in a semi-circle around the hallways. We rode back up, gathering more and more passengers on our way to the sixth floor. At the end, he said something towards me in French. I forgot what he had said to me exactly, but in ended with 'mon cherie' which is why I turned to him, after getting off the elevator, and asked him "what did you just say?"
I didn't mean for it to come out as strong as I said it...I was genuinely curious as I love French *and* I thought: who says mon cherie to someone else in public at work? But, after stalling for a moment, he said "I said
A strange man...with a determined walk. But I have been in the elevator, alone with him many, many times, and he sings. Not just sings...but like the kind of singing one would do in their car, alone, with no one around. Just weird.
Lastly, I remember riding up the elevator alone with this: