Elevator chat

So, this morning, in my new long running attempt to talk with people I encounter in elevators, I spoke with a man with a "jew-fro".

Those of you who are not of the Jewish persuasion may not be familiar with the "Jew-fro" look. In young Jewish men, it is generally curly hair that is all over the place. In older Jewish men, it is the same, but a more expensive city and often times showing the ravages of time with a receding hairline.

So, I push 7th flood, and right as the doors are about to close, receding hairline Jew-fro sticks an arm into the closing doors. My first instinct was to see if the old elevator had the electronic mechanism that picks up movement, or would I witness the removal of one Jew-fro owners arm.

No suck drama. Door opens, balding Jew-fro enters and I congratulate him on his non-loss of an arm. He smiles, says that this is just how his day is going and I, being the guy trying to engage people in elevator conversations asks, "having a bad day?"

"Oh, don't get me started. My wife, and let me tell you, should be ex-wife, wakes me up with the question, isn't today the day you get the MRI? and she was right, of course, because she is always right, but she is not so loving as to wake me in time to prepare for a medical procedure, just wake in time to remind me I am about to be late for a medical procedure, so I am rushing out of the house, with no breakfast and no coffee and this pang of anticipation because whenever any of us have a medical test of anything done we face the possibility of results that may or may not be welcome. I am thinking this as I start my car and I look up and coming out of the garage is my wife with a piece of paper, again with the paper, again with the last minute, and she hands it to me and I am thinking that it must be the insurance paperwork, or possibly something from the ordering physician or something of equal heft, but once I roll down the window and she hands it to me, it is a list of things she would like me to pick up on my way home from work. I have a medical test and a full day at the office, but on my way home I am not expected to pick up organic laundry detergent because my wife who should soon be my ex-wife, has, as she ages, gained a new appreciation for anything organic and expensive. I agree to pick up the detergent..."

At this point the elevator doors opened to my floor. I interrupted my new friends diatribe and told him I must be going and he kind of apologized and I just smiled and walk away.