The other day I wondered how much of my life is devoted to waiting for one of the two elevators in our building. As in most apartment buildings, there is a mirrored wall across the hall from where I wait, so I can occupy myself by gazing at my not-very-interesting-in-the-mirror self. I’ve been known to apply lipstick or wonder where my once-generous behind has gone while waiting.
The odd thing about our elevators is that although they are verrrrry slow between floors so that a trip to the lobby (two stops) seems endless, they have no patience when you are rushing to get on. The door will not hesitate to shut on you as you enter.
I’m thinking of measuring the time it takes to answer my call each time to see if there is a pattern. Or to tally my correct guesses about which elevator will come first.
It’s something to do.