Moved it when I wasn’t looking

The freight elevator is, I think, on the fifth floor, or at least it’s supposed to be. 

But when I get there climbing the stairs, my legs’ complaints a low grumble at this point, there’s no elevator. 

Now I have to check every floor, so I sigh, and trudge down, popping my head around the corner on each floor to check if the heavy metal door is open. 

Until I get to my floor, my knees and hips starting to sound like a chorus of huskies about to howl, and find the elevator, just waiting there, open, mocking me.

If Not Me, Then Who?

“I hate being that guy…,” I say as I get in the shower. 

Katie continues washing her face, but indicates with her expression that I should go on.

“… but in the book, there’s typos,” I finish, referring to a chapbook of our friend’s poetry.

“No you should be that guy,” Katie says decisively.

Debatable

We turn on the Vice Presidential debate, and get about sixteen minutes into it before we agree we are not having a good time, bro. 

A few minutes after we’ve turned it off, Katie stands over me with her first two fingers pressed to her throat.

“I can’t stand watching people arguing,” she says fiercely, “and I can’t get my blood pressure to go down.”

“It’s just so inauthentic,” I whine.

Reckless Disregard

I broke the lid of the toilet seat (don’t ask) but because of Katie’s work we have a LOT of adhesives in this house, so she fixed it.

“I know you like to jump up on the toilet seat in the morning,” Katie admonished the cat as she put the newly repaired lid in a spare room to cure, “but if you do it tomorrow you’ll end up in the drink.”

“Maybe we should cover it?” I muttered to myself.

“No.”

Local Hero

The family, clearly tourists, push their roller suitcases under the subway turnstiles before the whole group has gone through, which is why they’re unable to prevent one of the bags from rolling down the platform and tumbling onto the tracks, just before the train entered the station. 

The train manages, impressively enough, to stop right before hitting the bag, but now we’re stuck - there’s a maroon carry-on sized bag on the tracks, and it’s Sunday, which means nobody is going to be able to come retrieve for a while, and everybody has someplace to be.

I ask if anyone has an umbrella (it has been raining today, after all), so someone volunteers their full-sized one with a traditional, curved handle, and now Katie is lying on the edge of the platform while I hold her legs as she hooks the handle of the suitcase with the umbrella and hauls it up off the tracks to an enthusiastic round of applause.

The conductor thanks Katie, pulls the train the rest of the way into the station, and everyone, including the tourist family, piles onto the train, but after a hurried discussion, the tourist family, grinning sheepishly, gets off the train before it leaves, because apparently they meant to go the other direction, into Manhattan.

Rainy Days and Scooters

“Did you find the painted stripes in the crosswalks really slippery?” Katie asks as we climb the stairs to the apartment. It’s been raining on and off for two days, and scooting down wet streets can be a hazard. 

“Yeah, I found that out yesterday. Before I even stepped on my scooter, just walking on the crosswalk I almost ate shit,” I say. 

Security

The man on the elevator leans down close to the security keypad to enter his code, and when he’s done, I enter mine.

He asks what floor, and when it turns out it’s the same as mine, he says, “So you didn’t have to enter your code.”

“Maybe, but I think that if you don’t put in your code, the alarm goes off when you open your locker,” I explain.

“No it doesn’t,” he replies, and then shakes his head sadly, as if it is his distinct misfortune to be stuck in an elevator, having a conversation with the stupidest person he’s ever met.