Elevators

I was driven around NYC city today returning cloths for the magazine's fashion department. I took a lot of elevator rides. On my way up to some 12th floor I managed to turn away from the riveting floor buttons to glance at an anxious passenger who was getting noticeably sweaty and quietly performing lamaze-like breathing. I think he must have been claustrophobic. Thank god I'm not claustrophobic. Really, can you imagine having to gear up for elevator rides? He could never live in my building. Our elevator is terrifying: dark, rickety, old, and taken to spitting you out on whatever floor it feels like. I spend almost every second of the ride imagining what I would do if it got stuck: evaluating if I need to use the bathroom anytime soon, if I have anything that would make a nice pillow. I spend the rest of the seconds wondering if it's possible to survive in an elevator that has snapped its cables if you jump at the exact moment of impact and whether I'm physically fit enough to pull off such a feat.
On another elevator trip I met the guy who sits next to you on the bus/airplane and then never stops talking even after you give really mean one word answers, put on headphones, start sleeping, or turn and scream in his face to "please, shut-the-fuck-up." Except this guy was probably crazy too. He got on carrying a huge messenger bag resting on his back like it were a table and went on with minimal nods and smiles from me: "Whew it's hot. It's not that it's so heavy, you just got to get the balance right. Getting too old for this. Used to be just fine, I was like 200 pounds and now got a six pack, and whew just can't quite do it anymore. My cat looks at me and says, "old man you too old." And I say, scram cat, and then he just sits on the counter and stares, and says, "you're too old." And then he coughs up a hairball. But, you know, what you going to do? They give you these damn heavy packages and you just have to do your best, cat or no. Have a nice day."