Boy, was I late. I was tired and late and not happy at all. It took the elevator a long time to arrive. There was nobody in the elevator, but somebody had pressed the (B) button, so the elevator would go to the basement. Not with me. I was in a rush. I was maybe already late by 30 minutes or so. On the ground floor an old lady and a big delivery guy entered. I was in a rush, but I should have warned them, right there and then. I must have looked like a madman, running out of the elevator, in a rush, in a rush. I almost ran over a man in scrubs. The expression in his face was already so devastated. In the glimpse I got from him I could have sworn that somebody must have died in his arms the night before. I ran into the street, ran for the Subway station, past this attractive woman dressed in a 50’s dress. I liked the dress. I smiled. I was in a rush. I turned around the corner, I reached for my Metrocard. There was no metrocard. I reached for my money. No money in pocket. I left everything upstairs. I was late, I was in a rush. I had to go back. Back through the door, back into the lobby, back for the elevator. The guy in scrubs was waiting there and so was the girl in the 50’s dress. She seemed surprised that I had followed her into the building. I had not followed her, she just must have not seen me come out. The doctor stared at the wall and exhaled. The elevator arrived. Inside was the old lady and the big delivery guy. They were on their way back from the short trip to the basement. The old lady looked at me with a s haze of confusion. We packed the elevator. I pressed my button, I looked around. The lady was staring at me. I felt really bad that I had not warned her, or the delivery guy of the (B) button, I was in a rush. And there I said it. I looked at the old lady in a conspiring way, because only she would know what I mean, but I said it with a loud voice, because I somehow thought she might not hear me.
“I had not pressed the button.”
It was probably right when I said “I had...” that I realized that this was not the place to clarify the situation. “...pressed the button” had to be said, but it was the completely wrong thing to say. I was now, officially, the crazy man in the elevator. The elevator used to be crowded, but not now, and not for me. Everybody just took a step back. The lady pressed her body into the corner. The big delivery guy just opened his eyes a bit and moved his heavy bags strategically. The surgeon just barely moved, yet he moved, which seemed like a lot for a man who had just seen death. The girl in the 50’s dress just began to laugh nervously. I was the crazy-man. It was official. I had the elevator all to myself. The other people were now decorating the walls. The surgeon left and so did the delivery man. They squeezed themselves behind me.
And instead of just shutting my mouth and getting ready to make a run for my money and cards, I stared at the old lady and glanced at the girl every now and then. I wanted the old lady to relax, to explain. I was not a weirdo, I just forgot to tell her that the button was pressed. It did not even matter now, actually. I just wanted the situation to relax. So I made the second mistake. I began to explain. Not only did I break the silence a second time, I shattered it. “...you know, the elevator went to the basement. The button was already pressed. I had not pressed the button...” I had to stop right there. The old lady turned into portrayal of fear. I did not want to harm her with my stupid words. The 50’s girl was now pressed against the wall in the other corner of the elevator, silently giggling. I was her morning New York encounter. It was my floor, I had to leave. “Have a nice day” I said. There was no answer. It was ok. I was so late.