Have you ever been stuck in an elevator with a stranger? Someone who you have never met before of a type that for no other reason you probably might not have ever noticed? As species of animals based solely upon the different types of personality maybe ‘oil‘ to your ‘water‘. There you are so tightly packed like sardines belly to belly, face to face, at a distinct loss of whether or not to offer a word of greeting assurance. Now consider further how much more awkward this might be if the elevator car was cylindrical and subdivided into four separate equally apportioned sections. And to your further discomfort neither of you has any possibility of shifting to a more comfortable position to secure a bit more freedom of movement because a third unseen party is squashed into a similar configuration out of sight on the other side of her. Had your mind been racing for some comment to excuse any possible inadvertent ‘faux pas’s‘ due to any mindless animal fears brought on by a rising claustrophobia come from the vertigo induced by a completely clear transparent ‘mailing tube‘ exterior that crawls inordinately slow, you keep silent. Thank God you muse that this person has a slender frame beneath those gray-eyes behind those aquarium-like horn-rimmed glasses! Those same eyes that fill more than 120° of your field of view and float in their sockets like a goldfish. What she must be thinking in this silent unorthodox game of chess?
Who will make the first move? The misdirection of eyes towards one socially wary vector or another? Perhaps signifying some indecipherable prejudice or dissatisfaction of one of you to the other. Too fat! Too skinny! Not my type! Some spontaneous uncontrollable shift of movement of the legs or hips that might be construed as a animal response or possible ‘id’ based sexual invitation.An elbow impatiently supporting a stack of books slipping slowly out of a weakening grip under arm threatening hard impact to one’s feet or knees? Maybe still a small brief case with its top corner in striking distance of the tender temple of your male parts? All so many possibilities for infractions instantly misinterpreted by you both in your colliding but still silent universes. Who will slip up first and say something? But what? A “Good Morning!” accompanied with a wide smile? How would this silent Carassius-like creature respond? A brusque shift of the eyes demonstrably staring in any direction but your own signifying a dismissive displeasure with both your attempt at a temporal peaceful coexistence? The hope of a chance of a sly barely imperceptible yet discernibly sensual sourer of her own? One that makes you wonder if yours, as usual, is the first move to be made. That is if you are interested in carrying anything further than the next moment when hopefully the outer door will open. Choose your words carefully! Or worst. Worst of all! A cadaver-like absolutely stock still no response.
The seconds seem to drag into minutes each of which defining a small eternity of random thoughts romping about while indecision of what moves or not moves to make or discard. A series of flashes where questions like, “Was she once a ‘tomboy?” “Does she work in this building?” “Is she in a relationship?” “Is she a Lesbian?” “What are her vital statistics?” “How is she in bed?” “Does she have children of her own?” “How does she look naked?””OMG what is she thinking about me!” That picture window of your own immobile wide-eyed stare! Have your own unsupervised mental pondering’s been unexpectedly also caught naked heading too precipitously in the direction of the bedroom? That defiant dog inside that doesn’t mind waking the neighbors up at three AM! Does it even care if it’s been caught hunched awkwardly around cleaning itself with too much satisfaction? Still the same Mt Rushmore granite rock face of an unperturbed lack of emotion in her visage, Odd that she hasn’t budged he tiniest fraction of a millimeter? Has that default possibility of a ‘cold fish‘ personality initially imagined by you still hold sway. “Hey buddy, get your mind out of the gutter for a change!” “Won’t you?”
The sound of another smaller struggling body squeaks forth from the other side of her left shoulder and you see movement. “Oh!” “I’m sorry!”, it says. And with the smallest of seismic shifts your housemate winnows about to the side to accommodate that unctuous little female voice’s demand and you know that you have somehow lost the potential for an opening. All this in the infinity of seconds since the door closed and you have descended some two floors to the point where your journey will be over. “Not my type anyway!”, the brittle crystal chorus of your male ego quips once again while that little cute puppy of your infantile emotions cavorts around your ankles looking for a pet on its head. You smell a whiff of her. The aroma a mix of slightly medicinal perfume with the commercial smell of fabric sizing suggesting a freshly purchased suit perhaps hiding the fact of a career in some medical or dental field? You look hard at her face now shifted to another direction slightly away from your own. Her head bows slightly down as if to catch sight of the wrist of the arm with the watch on it. But that ‘same arm’ is misdirected on the opposite shoulder, the hand of which is securing the strap of her purse upon it. Ouch! Bingo! She has finally sent a sign. Your time is up! With the rumbling roar of a commercial jet rumbling heavy overhead the elevator cabin door opens and all three of you are all ejected from the coziness of this space capsule into the outer space of the external real world. The last sight of her you can recall is from her back as her short strides ‘clip clop‘ restrained by the tight enclosing shift of a tight skirted business suit. The unaccustomed wisp of a shock of wheat blond hair in a tiny swirl.