thoughts on a lift

here i am getting into the lift on the 13th floor, with the taste of blood in my mouth after visiting the dentist. apparently i don’t floss enough but hey flossing takes hard work too. there’s a lady who stares blankly at me in the lift as i step in and position myself in the back left corner. people start getting in at the 10th 9th and 7th level and this is the part i hate the most. lack of personal space — obviously — people pressing their shoulders against you and having to deal with the close proximity of another woman’s deep-fried-typically-dyed-brown hair threatening to shove itself in your face. and as if the lift is not on the verge of turning me into a human pancake, a woman i assume to be in her late 30’s gets in with a baby pram. she is immaculately dressed and her wedding ring is a giant rock. yet, as the lift finally reaches the 1st floor, she is the first to get out and forgets to thank the people (this is not me being bitter since i was behind her) (honestly is a simple thank you that hard to remember) (shouldn’t these things come naturally) who have given her way and held (not literally) the lift door open. can’t help but think that she may have everything but good manners


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