Cyril Wheaton I was at a writing camp in Iowa in the process of leaving the lunchroom with the rest of my compatriots. Outside the lunchroom were two elevators. The guys probably would’ve taken the elevator up to the dorms but there also happened to be a large crowd of girls waiting to take the elevator to the sixth floor. The guys elected to take the long way back but I, in no mood to walk the stairs, decided to wait with the girls. Now, the floor display for one elevator was marked “UP” and the display for the other was marked “DOWN.” The group of girls had pressed for the “UP” elevator but when the “DOWN” elevator arrived on their floor first, the following conversation ensued.
“Is this one ours? This is the 1st floor right?” This was the first floor.
“Wait but if this is our elevator then why is it going down? I thought we pressed for one going up?”
“So should we just go in this one?”
“This is so confusing.”
“Can we take this one? Or will it just go down?”
The debate raged on for another thirty-five seconds or so. Meanwhile, I stood watching the madness unfold wondering if I should say anything. I keep quiet. Eventually the “UP” elevator pings open and they realize that this is the right one to take. I follow them as they pile in giggling over the discussion.
“Oh my gosh that was so embarrassing.”
“I know right?”
“Yeah, like here we were talking this over for nothing, and I bet like this guy was silently judging us the whole time too, thinking how dumb we are.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that so I turned bright red instead, causing them to erupt into a peal of giggles. It was another agonizing twenty seconds that felt like minutes until the elevator opened on the fifth floor (my stop). I uttered a faint groan as I hurried out, prompting another volley of giggles as the doors closed on them. After collapsing into a lounge chair and taking a few minutes to rethink my life, I pulled over my laptop and got back to writing.
