You walk in the elevator and press your floor number. It’s a few floors up. You prepare yourself for some self reflection. Or you start send out a morning text to the bae with two smiley faces. Cause she’s worth that.
Then elevator stops on the second floor. And it’s him. You know this guy. You’ve had many awkward elevator rides with him. A man with more width than height. More years behind him than ahead. You’ve greeted him a few times and only got a miserable mumble back.
Today starts the same. You flash a small smile. He presses the button for the third floor. He manages to eek out a sound that’s as close to hello as you’re going to get from him.
And then he eeks it out. A force you did not expect to deal with at seven o’ clock in the morning. A force that will have you taking the stairs from that day on.
Loud. Like a car revving in a swamp. Long. For what seems to be hours, it goes on. You can’t stop it once it’s begun, only hope you can bear the pain. It ends wet. You can try to cover your nose, but you’ll never be quick enough. It shoves itself right up your nostrils.
Don’t bother trying to ask him about what he could have possibly eaten for breakfast to concoct this olfactory violation. He’ll avoid eye contact and get off shortly after his butt burst.
Do not let this get to you. You need to contain your rage. It’s unfair that your eyes may be watering , but let it go. Your co-workers don’t deserve the bad mood you’ll be in if you dwell on this.
Focus on a memory, bad or good. Make it a strong one. One that will take you away from the elevator until the doors open and you’re free. The fate of your day is in your hands. It’s on you if you want to have a bad one.