In my apartment building, it is a common courtesy to push the button for the floor of those you enter the elevator with. This is partially motivated from kindness and partially motivated by the fact you have to key in to push your button, making it very uncomfortable to key in, push your button, and move aside for your fellow man to repeat the process with you looming nearby.
Anyway, I stepped into the elevator.
5th, thank you.
I returned to my emails. She got off at Floor 2. The elevator stopped and beeped. I walked out and rounded the corner, still half looking through emails. I did catch out of the corner of my eye something in the ledge space next to my elevator. It looked like an upscale waste basket, and I assumed someone was moving in and stashing in there during a run to the loading dock. I look up, hand and key outstretched, only to see my room number, 2 floors down. I was on the third floor. Thanks bitch, I thought as I smirked and made my way back to the elevator.
Oh, maybe that wasn’t a wastebasket. Maybe the third floor has art on their elevator ledges. Unfair.
I reached the 5th floor, and left with a smile. Looks like we had waste basket art installed as well.
By Morgan Schatzman