Sign-o-the-times

Rachel and I left work early, not very early, just before 17.30. We got in a lift with one of the shitty lawyers from work, but he had headphones on so, it was okay, we didn't have to speak to him. We travelled one floor and two men got on. Then we heard,

Hold the lift! Hold the lift! There was an urgency about the female voice’s tone.

Nobody moved. Nobody did any thing.

Hold the lift! Hold the lift! Repeated the, seemingly, desperate voice.

Still nobody moved.

The lift doors seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to close, but finally they slid shut, without any of us ever moving a muscle.

“She seemed to have a some what blood-curdling tone,” said Rachel. “The voice?”

I knew who she meant, but I have a thing about people who run for the lift and hold everyone else up, usually selfishly.

“I couldn’t push the door-open button,” I said, looking down at my arm in the sling. “I’m a cripple.”

“I was holding my brief case,” said one of the two men who’d just got on.

“I was waiting for instructions from either one of you two,” said the other.

We all laughed.

As Rachel and I crossed the foyer Rachel said, “Do you think that voice had an urgent tone about it?”

“She was probably late for her nail extension appointment,” I replied. “You know what urgent means now a days.”

Rachel laughed.

“I just thought it was funny that none of us did anything,” I said. “You know, there is generally always some rat-faced receptionist on board who thinks she has to do ‘the right thing’ who dives for the door open button and spoils it for everyone.”

We both laughed.