Going Down! or Look Out, Tamra’s Got a Bus to Catch!

Tamra’s inability to leave her desk on time causes her to run to the elevator and park on the buttons.

I tag along, just because I find it amusing.

The doors close. 

“So what are you doing now?”

“Well,” she says, holding the Close-Door button, “I have a theory.”

“A theory!  Tell me about it.”

She smiles.  She suspects that I am teasing her – and in this, she is correct – but tells me anyway.

“It’s my theory,” she says, finger still on the Close-Door button, “that when I keep my finger on this button  and don’t let it up, that the car won’t stop on another floor."

I stare at her.

"I’ll get to the lobby quicker,” she explains.

“So let me get this straight,” I say.  “On the days that you are leaving late for your bus, you endeavor to keep the elevator to yourself for a full 47 floors.”

She nods.  “That is correct.”

“So other people be hanged, you got a bus to catch?”

“Correct.”

And then she laughs.

I squint at her.  “You know it doesn’t make a difference, right?”

She winks – winks!  “I gotta lean into it, Pearl.  I gotta lean just right, and then it works.”

“You are a superstitious little freak,” I offer.

She beams at me.  “And we just rode down 47 floors without stopping once.”  The doors open to the lobby, and she leaves me in her wake, power-walking toward the doors out onto Sixth, ready to throw herself at the two city-block walk to her stop.  “You’re welcome!”