What if you and I were in an elevator tomorrow morning?

We don’t know one another.

Would we smile and say, “Good morning” and leave it at that?

Would we say nothing and pretend we were not sharing space in a box speeding towards the 1st floor?

Would you spark up a conversation with me?

How about a little small talk?

Lovely morning, isn’t it?

How you doing?

How boring.

When you really want to ask:

Have you ever seen a grown man naked?

What’s your name?

Who’s your daddy?

Gee you look familiar.  Are you George Clooney?

Can I interest you in a little hanky panky?

Got any weed?

Hey, it’s 7am.  Want to grab a few beers?

You sure are a hunk, a hunk of burning love.

Do you like whipped cream?

I am gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.

Ever been to Tahiti? Want to go?

Ahh, but then, we never do say those things, do we?

Unless, of course, you are a mad hatter, or a white rabbit in Wonderland,

Or Chicken Buttafucco in Pennsylvania.

Long live Alice

Long live the queen

And would someone please take the Chicken B out back

And shoot that goof.

After all, an elevator should be a sanctuary,

Where we all pretend that we are alone.

No one else is in here.


Don’t talk.

Don’t make eye contact.

Just stand there, 2 inches from one another

And pretend you are alone.

Or better yet,

Dink around with your cell phone,

So that when the Chx. B. asks you if you are happy with your life,

You can either ignore the intrusion

And leave when the elevator stops on your floor

Or you can share the nonsense

And laugh at the ridiculousness of an elevator encounter

To start your day

With a crazy woman

Whose only motive is to make a connection

With all those she meets

To share a smile, a laugh and a moment.





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