Thursday, September 10, 2009

Close Call of the Year Fucking Century!

I get in the elevator to head down to get the mail. I press 1 and stab at the DOOR CLOSE button.

The elevator stops at 7. You remember what lurks on that floor, right?

I have not seen the walking litter box in quite some time, so I'm shocked half to death when the doors open and I see him there.

"Fuck me!" I say, gritting my teeth.

But he doesn't get on. He stands there, sort of confused. I make brief eye contact, then stare directly ahead, like I'm taking an eye exam.

By some brand of miracle, he doesn't get on. Just out of sight, I hear Ms. Crab-pee yelling to him, "No. They're gonna bring it up! You don't have to go down."

And like that, I am spared. I never believed in guardian angels before, but now I do.

1 comment:

Hamamama said...

someone is looking after you! oh how i miss the 7th floor, and that man who i always ran into, who knew my name! remember him!! yikes.