The Elevator Ride that wasn't.

Every morning, I take an elevator up to the 4th floor at work.

They are really tall stair cases, okay?

And fifty percent of the time, I have to run to catch the doors before they close. And don't for one second think that means I yell something like "Hold that door!" because I would rather die than yelling something like that and then have elevator riders see my wild eyes running towards them as the door closes in front of my face.

No, instead I stick my foot in, the elevator senses my foot, and the doors open! Works every time.

Well not every time. Specifically not the time I forgot to stick my foot in and instead stuck my hand in casually, like I owned the place. What I didn't realize is that elevators don't recognize hands (probably because mine is so small and dainty and perfect) as it does feet. What I also didn't realize was that I was holding my coffee.

Doors closes, hand is smooshed, coffee is crushed and then spilled. And then doors open to a bewildered group of elevator passengers. I mumble oh my god. Doors close.

Hello Wednesday!