and stupid boys, well, usually...aren't.
he's carrying a laundry basket. my face is flushed and my hair's swept around from the outside cold air. i'm wearing my father's navy blue, quilted motor jacket. note this: he walks into the elevator booth with his heavy load--then, he spots me, and only then does he walk out of the elevator booth and do the following (my point is, this wasn't random common courtesy. it was contrived and uncomfortable and obvious and even his friend noted this. people hold doors for me all the time, and i appreciate that--when there isn't some snarky motivation or intent to seem "suave"). he tries to "hold" the elevator door for me, and motions with a struggling hand for me to go ahead of him, first. my initial reaction, i can't help it if it was rude, i made a bit of a face and shook my head. mm, julia.
i wait for him to get in the elevator. an uncomfortable pause ensues, his friend finally laughs at him and pushes him into the booth, and finally i step in. so he has this friend with him, and he's urging the friend frantically to shut the elevator before his other two laundry mates enter the lobby. the door starts to close and his straggling friends shoot an empty laundry basket into the elevator to keep the door from shutting and leaving them behind. this elicits a half smile from me, but i'm not looking at them; i'm staring intently at the red digits, because the sooner they change the sooner i can get out of the cramped space shared with googly eyed snarky boy and his friends. he tries to kick two of them off at floor six, but as one barrels out the door he turns and says, "ah, fine, i'll see you tomorrow," and his other friend, the one still in the elevator with him, shouts, "no, come up with me, i gotta sign you out, bitch." the googly eyed one presses "15" (i get off on "12"), the elevator door shuts without the two, and the googly eyed one says, "dude, don't be cursing in front of a lady." i smirk at the metal wall. the friend says to me, while i'm not looking, "i'm sorry. my friends always tell me i swear too much." i smirk at them and reply in a cold tone, "it's okay." the bell sounds, the light blinks, and the door opens. "it's not a gender issue," i add, as i leave the two in the elevator.
i wait for him to get in the elevator. an uncomfortable pause ensues, his friend finally laughs at him and pushes him into the booth, and finally i step in. so he has this friend with him, and he's urging the friend frantically to shut the elevator before his other two laundry mates enter the lobby. the door starts to close and his straggling friends shoot an empty laundry basket into the elevator to keep the door from shutting and leaving them behind. this elicits a half smile from me, but i'm not looking at them; i'm staring intently at the red digits, because the sooner they change the sooner i can get out of the cramped space shared with googly eyed snarky boy and his friends. he tries to kick two of them off at floor six, but as one barrels out the door he turns and says, "ah, fine, i'll see you tomorrow," and his other friend, the one still in the elevator with him, shouts, "no, come up with me, i gotta sign you out, bitch." the googly eyed one presses "15" (i get off on "12"), the elevator door shuts without the two, and the googly eyed one says, "dude, don't be cursing in front of a lady." i smirk at the metal wall. the friend says to me, while i'm not looking, "i'm sorry. my friends always tell me i swear too much." i smirk at them and reply in a cold tone, "it's okay." the bell sounds, the light blinks, and the door opens. "it's not a gender issue," i add, as i leave the two in the elevator.