Fear & Loathing in Darth Vator – The Red Boot Diaries

Nothing gets under my skin like a territorial bubble invasion by some socially inept stranger.

I was on the main floor of the octagonal office tower in which I am dutifully employed; casually approaching the bank of six elevators that service the center of the building, I draw ever closer to the call button and prepare to extend my index finger. Up until this point all was going according to plan, I was alone in the hall and thought to myself that the long ride to floor 27 would be a quiet one – a time of reflection (or to check my reflection). My peripheral vision detects the presence of another person rounding the corner; I am currently unprepared to share an elevator with this person, ever more so after I collect his image in full. My head turns to offer a polite nod or insincere but cleverly cloaked good morning smirk, it is a man… wearing cherry red cowboy boots. Excuse me? Is there a rodeo room on one of these floors? My brow furrows a bit but I accept that I will share a few moments of my life with this man within close proximity. I ready my psychic defenses and press the button.

Once in awhile the elevator gods take pity on me, this was one of those times, for shortly after the button lit up to reaffirm that I had called the unit - three main floor elevators chimed out their arrival and welcomed us both. My mouth fell open a little and I gave thanks that this corporate cowboy and I would soon be parting ways, perhaps never to intersect again, I was pleased with this little piece of peppermint providence. I made my way towards the farthest open door which would surely guarantee that Buffalo Bill would chart a course to the unit closest to him. I entered my car and pressed (27), another little light, I like little lights; I always think that this one depressed key is that which destroys the Death Star with a welcome glow – Darth (ele)Vator as it were. I wait for the door to close. DING. Here we go; the doors begin to come together. I gently bring my coffee up to my lips for a sip when I am startled by a pair of hands reaching in at me from beyond the door panels. Safety censored elevator doors slide back open, parting like the boot red sea only to reveal Moses’ redneck cousin was behind it all. Two other perfectly approachable elevators and this Calvin Klein cowpoke choo-choo-chooses to invade my little life, forcibly fumble his way into the tiny space with me and boil my blood to bacon fat. I choke a little on my coffee and retreat to the back corner.

Elevator etiquette would dictate that when two parties are in the same unit, they should move to the back of the vator and select a corner to occupy, I guess that manual hasn’t yet made its way out to the barnyard because this fellow decides to stand right beside me. I squirm into the corner a little deeper. The doors close and the car begins its ascent, the cowboy hasn’t yet selected a floor to infect and I know he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near my floor so I throw him a bone;

“Uh, sir? What floor would you like?” even offering to press the button for him.

He doesn’t say a word, he just reaches past me to press the floor button himself and since I had already destroyed the Death Star I have no idea what fantasy button he pressed. It looks like I’ll be making an unscheduled stop on floor 20... I always thought it smelled a bit gamey on that floor. So there we were, one cannibal and one uncultured cowboy sharing an elevator, its’ got the makings of a fantastic joke but somewhere between the ground and 2x10 floors up the punch line was lost on me. I stare at the numbers counting away on the panel above us as an eternity unfolds between micro-seconds. His stop approaches, my pulse quickens trying to work the bacon fat out of my arteries, he moves from my side to practically insert his nose where the doors meet. Three or four floors to go, I am getting anxious. Place coffee to mouth. Keep my cool kitten, you’ll be fine.

DING!

His cherry red boots carry the messiah of the mundane out of the elevator and away from my life. My shoulders ease down, breathing returns to normal and my trip continues incident free. I inhale the unshared air and curse the elevator gods for fucking with me again.

iPod played “Planet Smashers – Pee in the Elevator” while posting