Once I was riding on a very slow and extremely crowded elevator. We all had our eyes glued to the floor number indicator, as you do. My mind wandered. I thought of something really funny that happened to a friend recently, and I started to giggle.
The tension rose with the elevator. People began to shuffle nervously. One woman clutched her purse. I thought, “It could have been worse. I could have farted.” That made me giggle even more. I was mortified. These poor people had no idea if I was mentally ill and about to act out, and they were trapped. With me. An unknown quantity.
There was nothing for it but to stand there, giggling nervously, until the elevator doors mercifully opened and our little pimple of humanity could burst forth as if it had been shot out of a cannon. I was crimson with embarrassment. But it was about to get much worse.
I walked into the job interview, and two of the people on the interview panel had been on the elevator with me. I tried to explain, sans the fart part, of course. I hoped it would serve as an ice breaker. But these people had no sense of humor.
I didn’t get the job. But in retrospect, that was probably for the best. As the occupants of that elevator can attest, I don’t thrive in uptight environments.
[Image credit: popculturepassionistas.com]
The View from a Drawbridge 
Let’s start a Whacko Club. No meetings, no head counts, rules or regulations, just knowing we are not alone is our badge of honor. Whacko’s Unite. Giggle on!
I like it! This could be big! Because I know lots of us are out there…
Hahaha! That’s hilarious!
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I agree with you. Now. 🙂
I could do a whole week of posts on funny things I do in elevators… in fact, I think I already did some of them…
And you’ve got that intimidating height and testosterone thing going on, too. I bet women clutch their purses without you even having to giggle.
Not at all… because I radiate a warm friendliness… one that women… and babies and horses and dogs all respond to… and I do silly things in elevators.
Awwww…
yup
Can you imagine how deadly it would have been working for them? Sure, you would have had a steady paycheck, maybe some benefits–but how much do they matter if you die of bad fit? At your desk? Giggling and wild-eyed each time the legions of the humorless walk by and avert their eyes? Because I’m pretty sure you would be giggling each time…
That’s why I never lasted long in Corporate America. I inherited that from my mother– the tendency to laugh at the most socially inappropriate moments. Stuffy people don’t like that one little bit.