I’ve come to a quasi-monumental conclusion today.
I will dispel with small talk in the elevator.
Elevators are an anomaly of human existance. There are social behavior studies that solely devote their research to elevator interactions. Everyone is stuffed in there, breathing someone else’s exhaled air, looking straight ahead and trying to pretend that they are, in fact, alone. Touching in an elevator? A mortal sin. If someone (God forbid) accidentally brushes your arm, you bristle and they apologize as if they have done inexcusable damage to your psyche. And facing forward? The studies have had people intentionally face backwards at the rest of the elevator’s occupants, and know what happens? The majority of them turn around, too. Are we a society so fearful of human interaction that we, like ducks in a row, follow the actions of each other in order to avoid contact?
It’s the small talk that gets me. I truly have little to no desire to befriend the others in the elevator, and while being polite, would rather not talk about the weather today.
“It’s gonna be another hot one” was the conversation this morning, as if that was a rarity in mid-summer Atlanta. I agreed and tried to look amazingly interested in the contents of my purse.
“Hot and muggy. Yep. Gonna be hot.”
I think we have gathered that at this point, but rudeness is not permitted in small talk-ville, so I muttered an agreement, praying that the eternal meteorologist would stop.
“Hot hot hot. That’s Atlanta for you.”
Yes. I know. I do live here as well. Please, sir, exit the elevator.
Of course, I didn’t say that. But ooh, how I wish I could. Like Jim Carrey (who incidentally, I abhor) in Liar Liar, if I could have one “Brutally Honest Aubrey” day, how refreshing it would be. All of my ex’s would get a phone call and an earful. A cheated-on girlfriend of a quasi-ex would as well. It’s not all bad, though. I’d finally profess my feelings to the love of my life, tell my parents how much they mean to me and how thankful I am for all they have done for me, and give praise where praise was due. I’d let my friends know how much I cherish, respect, and depend upon them, and that I love them equally for the things they are as well as the things they aren’t. I’d try to mend old wounds, forgive outdated disagreements, and generally let people know what I was thinking and feeling.
Why we don’t do this every day is beyond me, but until that day comes, no, those pants do NOT look fat on you.
Honestly wishing you a happy Monday,