Lift Doors

I know this is a terrible thing, well, actually, I don't mind it being done to me, in fact, I kind have a little respect, in a sense, if someone does... come on, hurry along, we're on our way... I'd have to say, that maybe it isn't so, so terrible.

I close lift doors on people at work.

Come on, hurry up, this car is leaving.

Oh, I don't mean to mean but, people dither so much getting into lifts that it drives me mad. It's nothing for them to keep the doors open while they finish their conversation, despite anyone else. Or they file in like sheep, even when other lift doors open up, like once they have committed there's no going back.

People wanting to go down, get in the up life and then scramble to get out, before the doors have closed, once they realise. Come on, pay attention!

Or they do the opposite, they run like mad and practically fling themselves through the doors when they are about to close, like their lives depend on catching that particular lift, despite there being five more lifts. I'll never understand it.

And don't get me started on the people who catch the lift up one floor. It would, often, take them longer waiting for the lift than it would taking the stairs. The other day, when a, shall we say large, girl did exactly that, as soon as she alighted a bloke in the lift turned to everyone else and said what we were all thinking, - or is that what I was thinking - And that is why she will always be fat! (He almost spat the 't' out)

I work on the fortieth floor of a large office building - yes, the view is spectacular, as so many people like to comment when they come into my office, which overlooks Port Phillip Bay - so there is no escaping my reliance on and my dismay at, lifts and the people who use them.

But, I guess, the charge of excitement that I got at the sight of the old lady's puce, gloved hand nearly being amputated as the stainless steel slid closed... is not, um... er... snigger, snigger... a good thing.