Tuesday, February 15, 2005

How to tell smart people from stupid people. . . . .

Basic Elevator Etiquette for Dummies:

1. Push the appropriate button. If button is already glowing, do not push it.

2. Stand back. LEAVE ROOM FOR PEOPLE TO EMERGE FROM THE ELEVATOR.

3. When the door opens, WAIT UNTIL EVERYBODY IS OUT BEFORE YOU GO IN.

4. The people coming out of the elevator have the right-of-way over the people going into the elevator.

5. WHEN THE ELEVATOR IS COMPLETELY EMPTY, calmly walk towards the open door. Do not push. Do not shove. The elevator is not going anywhere. It's not like a subway, or a train, or an airport shuttle. Step inside the elevator and position yourself as far away from the other passengers as possible. If the elevator is crowded, do not take up more than your fair share of space with a wheeled briefcase.

6. Anyone who has a lighted cigarette in an elevator is fair game for murder. Nobody will tell on you. Everybody will help. You might even get a medal. If not, you should.

7. Once inside the elevator, do not reach across people to push a button. If your button is not already glowing, ask someone near the buttons to push it for you. Be sure say please, and thank them nicely when they do it.

8. Do not violate any of these rules.

9. ESPECIALLY do not violate #'s 2 and 3.

10 If you violate #'s 2 and 3, you are an idiot. "Dummies" books are beyond your intellect. You suck. You're probably ugly. Your mother dresses you funny. You smell bad. Nobody likes you. Your spouse is changing the locks as we speak. Your children tell their friends that you are the boarder, and that their father lives in Paris and films documentaries.

There. Now you know one way to tell smart people from stupid people. It's a pretty good indicator.

Oh, are you upset because I was a little teensy bit MEAN up there?

(Good grief, are you back again? I'm talking about adults today. Go away.)

No, not you. You can stay. And, please do. You're awesome and I love you.

I guess it's obvious what kind of day I've had. To be honest, it was pretty good until the group of women in bad suits (all in red high heels, for whatever reason) decided to mob the elevator. They were wearing name tags. Apparently, an insurance convention was going on today. Yes, I know your names and place of employment, Loretta and Noreen and Sh'kwanna and Mrs. Ashe. Were any of you aware that your carnations were pinned on upside down?

Now that I know the name of their company, you can bet that I wouldn't purchase anything from them. They are stupid. They gave their company a bad name. Bad, bad impression.

And if they hadn't also been so pushy and scary, I would post the name of the company.

I am mean. Ask anybody. Grrrrr. Mean.

And why do I get the impression that Noreen rides tailgun on a Harley every weekend, wearing a halter made from a bandanna and a diaper pin?

Not that there's anything WRONG with that. . . .

(Yes, I'm mean. Are you still here? Go back to your own blog and post all about how awful my journal is, and how mean I am. That's your thing. We all know.)

NOT YOU. You, I adore.

Ordinarily I'm nice. Honest I am.

Just not right now.

Can you tell that I'm not really nearly as angry as I am hurt, by a certain person's opinion of me?

Yes, YOU.

(No, not YOU.)

He knows who he is.

My blog is NOT offensive. Is it?

Well, maybe this post is. But on a regular basis, is it?