What I Hate about Elevators

I catch a glimpse of the thin steel cable, then I look down at my big belly. Do I then take the stairs? You don’t get a belly like mine taking the stairs.

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I hate when a building has no thirteenth floor. I get the feeling that the people who designed it that way are the same people who describe their daughter’s heroin addiction as “just a phase”…

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I hate looking up and seeing the escape hatch in the ceiling knowing that, if I tried to climb out, I’d immediately fall on my back, the steel cable would snap and the elevator and I would free-fall… because you can’t have a belly like mine and not snap a few elevator cables.

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Get it straight: You can’t have both an upper mezzanine and a lower mezzanine. That’s like having a “third floor” and a “third floor, the sequel”…

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I hate it when couples have sex in elevators because they tend to leave a mess and then there’s nowhere for me to stand when I have sex in the elevator.

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I hate when there are buttons in the elevator that only activate through the use of a key or a code because it makes it seem as if the elevator is just another lackey for “the man”…

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I hate when kids hit all the buttons in the elevator because, as I stop at each floor, I notice that they are way more interesting than the floor I’m going to.

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I hate when there is a button in an elevator with no marking on it. I want to press it but I don’t because it probably will kill a person in Bhutan or blow up a planet in another galaxy.

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I hate sharing an elevator with people who call square dances. I’m pretty sure they aren’t going to start a square dance but a vigorous do-si-do could injure someone if they did.

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I hate when people won’t talk in an elevator as if they think it’s a library. Yes, the homeless do sleep in both of them but that’s where the similarity ends…