I live in a dormitory that is 21 stories high. One elevator stops at all the even floors (where the women’s rooms are) and another stops at all the odd floors (where the men’s rooms are). Either sex is permitted to use either elevator. Obviously, you may have to go up or down a flight of stairs if you use the elevator that doesn’t stop at your floor.
I live on the eighth floor (it is actually called the sixth floor, but there are two floors before the numbering starts), so I use the elevator almost every day. I have come to notice that people have extremely annoying elevator habits.
The most obvious is the way they push the buttons. With elevators, chances are you will be running into a lot of people you don’t really know and that it is going to feel awkward. Well, some people express this awkwardness in a nervous energy that causes them to repeatedly push the elevator buttons. When I see somebody push the same button ten times, I can’t help but wonder if they really think that the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth times are going to make the elevator operate more efficiently.
Some of you may be going, “What about the second and third times?” Well, I can be a bit obsessive myself (I know, shocking, isn’t it?) and sometimes wonder if I actually pushed the button the first time, so I push it a second time. Then I wonder if the elevator is having a bad day and possibly missed the message, so I give it a third firm push right in the middle of the button, attempting to cover as much surface area with my thumb pad as possible. After the third time, I am sufficiently confident that I have communicated my request to the elevator.
And let’s not forget that we are talking about a Puerto Rican elevator in a run-down university building. Sometimes, it is just plain moody for no apparent reason. It has obstinately snubbed the fourth floor altogether and refuses to respond to the down button request on my floor, which means you have to push the up button and either ride up and then back down or get somebody on the elevator to push the number six button when the door closes so that it will stop for you on its way back down. Often, it is simpler to take the stairs.
Considering these factors, pushing the elevator button three times is not excessive. More than that and you may want to consider seeing a doctor to get you on some meds – or simply smoking a joint before you tackle the elevator ride.
Another annoying elevator behavior is when people stand directly in front of the door, right in the center, even when they aren’t getting off until the eighteenth or nineteenth floor and even when there is nobody else on the elevator. Of course given that there are only two elevators serving 350 to 400 residents plus the various workers, the elevators can get rather crowded, so one may be forced to stand right in front of the door.
It would be absurd to expect all the maintenance workers and janitors to haul all the cleaning supplies up the stairs or haul the enormous amounts of garbage down the stairs. The only other alternative is for them to also use the elevators. As a consequence, the elevators reek early in the day (because of the garbage – not the workers). Also, the response time is slower because it can take a while to drag all of that garbage out.
Inconsiderate people also slow the elevator’s response time. If you are not actually ready to get on the elevator when you push the button, then don’t push the god-damn button and then stand there holding the door open for five minutes while you finish your conversation. And if your friend is not ready to go down or up yet, then don’t hold the door open for them either. There are 350 to 400 other people waiting to use that elevator and don’t appreciate you wasting their time.
Not being the most patient person in the world, I frequently use the stairs. Quite a bit of thought has gone into this. The elevator uses electricity, so by using the stairs I am using less energy. Stair-climbing is good for the muscles, so by using the stairs I am developing a tighter ass. Stair-climbing burns calories, so by using the stairs I am contributing to my daily work-out effort. Up and down eight flights of steep stairs a few times a day can be quite the work-out. And finally, stair-climbing eliminates exposure to all of those annoying elevator habits, so I am reducing my stress level and finding my dorm mates much more amicable.

I ran into my former boss today and was surprised to learn she had called me last week. She had told me to come into the office on Monday because there was now enough work for me and I had agreed. I have absolutely no recollection of this conversation, which is worrisome. However, I put it out of my mind and agreed to come later in the day.
Returning to something that you were once apart of almost every day after a long absence is eerie. People who you once thought took an interest in you barely manage a nod. People you considered friends and spent hours laughing and talking with are suddenly once again strangers.
One of those familiar strangers I saw today for the first time since mid-December. We spent quite a bit of time talking and wasting time not working together. I honestly thought I wouldn’t mind being friends with him. I thought we were almost friends, although we had never actually spent time together outside of work. But out of all my co-workers I would say that he was my favorite.
So, today, I asked him his boyfriend was. He nervously glanced around the room and quietly said, “Nobody else here knows about that.”
It surprised me. If I were to be honest with myself, my first impression of him was that he was gay. Once I realized I thought this, I checked myself and decided not to make any assumptions about him. His mannerisms were slightly feminine, but that is not so uncommon in male Puerto Ricans. They are group that wax their eyebrows, occasionally wear their finger nails long and sometimes spend more money and energy on getting their hair styled than women.
As time passed, I learned that he didn’t like going to straight clubs, he had a boyfriend and loved jewelry and make-up even though he felt he couldn’t wear them. With this new information, I decided that the chances were probably pretty good that he was gay. I thought it humorous when he wanted to be a woman for Halloween, but I also felt sad that he didn’t feel comfortable enough to truly express himself the way he wanted in his every day life.
It never occurred to me that what he was sharing with me wasn’t something he shared with the other co-workers. I am not sure why he felt comfortable talking about it with me. Because I am American?
I wish we could all be what we wanted to without fearing what other people might think, say or do. I know I am prone to look at someone and wonder what in the hell they were thinking when the put that outfit together and then wondering what in the hell the person who designed that outfit was thinking and what in the hell the store owner who stocked that outfit was thinking, etc., etc. In reality, though, I recognize that person deserves to be happy in that outfit no matter what I think because what I think is irrelevant in her or his life. (I intentionally put the feminine pronoun first when using she/he, her/him, her/his.) Maybe that person feels the same way about what I am wearing. Hopefully, I do not feel the same way about what I am wearing.