Look at me and look at you
It was Friday afternoon and I was at the hallway of the sixth floor waiting for the elevator. A lady who was twice my size (and I’m not trying to be mean here) came out of the door of one of the rooms. She was also on her way home. We waited there together and she started telling me how she had this bad phone call.
Her: I always get the bad ones at the end of the day. It just makes my day.
Me: But would you rather get the bad calls at the start of the day? Wouldn’t that ruin your day more?
Her: No, because then I’ll get nice ones after that. And I’d forget about the bad one.
Me: Oh, okay, I see.
The elevator opened and then we went down to the lower level.
We came to this part where we have to either go up the stairs or the escalator to get to the street level. She went to take the escalator. I walked past her and headed for the stairs.
Me: I’m taking the stairs. I always do.
Her: Well, you’re a good girl. And you’re going even faster than I am.
For me, it’s not about even getting there faster. I sit all day at work and at the end of the day I just need to get some movement, get going, you know.
Me: I just like taking the stairs.
Her: Well, good for you. Look at me and look at you.
Those were her words, alright. She said that. And did I mention that she was twice my size? Strike that. I think she was more than twice my size.