Elevator Confessional

The elevator ride from P2 to G takes moments, but it can feel like eternity when trapped in silence with one of my neighbors. My new apartment, selected particularly for the allegedly high number of young professionals/students, has turned out to be riddled with “adults” and young families, none of whom care to chat. None of whom seem to care too much for being “neighborly” at all.

Which is particularly why today’s ride caught me by surprise.

I pulled into my parking space, thrilled that the “compact” Jeep Wrangler hadn’t gotten home yet and I could open my “compact” Corolla’s door with ease. I looked around and saw no one, disappointed that another chance to meet a neighbor had come and gone. Then, he seemed to appear out of nowhere: Red Backpack Guy. He rides the elevator silently in the morning. He has a red backpack.

“What floor?” I ask as he follows into the waiting elevator.

“Three.”

The silence is deafening but familiar.

But then… “Good day today?” he asked, catching me completely off guard.

My mind went all “tv-dramatic-miniseries-near-death-experience-montage” on me, taking me on whirwind tour of my day: the near breakdown mid-morning, the doubts about my job and my life this afternoon, the list of things I made of things I need but can’t afford, the lunch alone in the park, the awkward run-in at Potbelly’s with a boy I never called…

“No, not really.” I could have lied, but why? The truth was, I had a crap day. I couldn’t come up with a lie, so I told the truth.

It was then his turn to be taken aback. “No? Why?” he asked.

I shrugged, unable to come up with a pithy way to sum up my not-so-awesome day, saved by the *ding* of the opening door.

“Just kinda ‘Tuesday’ huh?”

And that was it. “Yes, actually. It was just kind of ‘Tuesday’.”

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