Pressing Buttons

The other day, I did something uncharacteristic. I rode the elevator down one floor. Why is that uncharacteristic, you ask? Well, as anyone who has taken the stairs up or down one floor instead of the elevator can attest, the elevator is slower than taking the stairs 99% of the time in that situation.

The reason I was taking the lift (in a British accent) this time was because I did not want to chance dropping my laptop that was still shutting down. I was running a bit late for a meeting and because the shut down procedure can take FOREVER if I forget to clear cache and temp files, I was walking towards the door as it was finishing.

Why didn’t I just shut the lid and let in finish in my bag?  Well, if I just shut the lid, the computer goes into sleep mode which might as well be called Rip Van Winkle mode on this laptop. I have to pull the battery and leave it unplugged for about 10 minutes to get it to boot up again. Yes, it needs some serious maintenance, but that’s a post for another day.

Anyways, I had just pressed the call button when the laptop finished it’s shut down procedure. Great, so now what do I do? Wait for the elevator and be even later? Or do I take the stairs, thereby shaving precious seconds off my delay, yet wasting the energy used by the elevator. (Alright, it’s either just a few seconds or a minute amount of electricity, but it’s my literary device. Leave me alone.)

I decided to take the stairs. But as soon as I turned, Ms. Tree Hugger, who was sitting in a chair in the lobby unobserved by me, cleared her throat. And the funny thing is, I stopped and waited for the elevator. Since when did merely pressing a button constitute a social contract I felt obligated to uphold? When did that happen? How come I was not notified in triplicate by certified messenger?

Next thing I know, I’m being jolted out of my reverie by the “Ding!” of the elevator. The doors opened to reveal two families exiting the lift. So… I turned to Ms. Tree Hugger, gave her a raspberry and ran down the stairs. So much for social convention.

© 2012 by What I Desired to Say….

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