Elevator encounters

I like the word swarthy.

I got in the elevator this morning, alone, at peace and ready to finish my coffee and pretend like the person I was going to see was interesting.

The doors were closing and a mans hand slid between the doors, triggering the mechanism and opening the doors again. A "swarthy" man wearing a polyester shirt that was a couple of sizes too small walked in, reeking of male perfume and some sort of organic hair tonic, I'd guess olive oil, but someone would accuse me of being racist, or something.

Stinky Swarthy man walked in, no eye contact and pushed 46. The elevator filled with whatever stench perfume bullshit he bothered to buy in bulk. I was almost gagging. I said to him, "what sort of male perfume is that you are wearing?" He finally looked over at me and said, "hang on a second, the guy in the elevator likes my after shave." I was astonished, "aftershave? You must have done a full body shave to smell so strongly."

He looked back at the closed door, "yeah, he's a real joker. Hey joker, you don't like my aftershave, get off the elevator." "But, I was here first."

I looked up at the display, we are heading toward 37, he was going to 46, it could be a long ride. I pushed 10 and the elevator slowed. The doors opened and I walked out. The hallway outside the elevator did not smell like a cheap male porn star.

I will never understand neurotic men and their need to hide behind such a strong aroma of fear and ineptitude.