Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


Mountian goats and awkward elevator rides.

So, the elevator at my office building has one of those TV screens (or as I like to call it, yet another venue for selling me shit at the office), the kind that runs some of the weirdest, most useless shit ever. Seriously, one day the "word of the day" was crwth. Who in the fuck, particularly in the modern corporate business world, needs to know what the fuck a crwth is?!

This morning, I'm riding the elevator with a couple dudes, one of whom happens to be the short skinny hot dude I think is just adorable, for whatever weird reason I can't fathom. The other dude gets off at a lower floor, and that leaves just me and the hot dude for the remainder of the ride. I was standing on the side of the elevator with the "good" (if we wanna call it that) view of the elevator TV, and he was doing that thing where he stood on the total opposite side of the elevator and tried to crane his neck to see the TV.

Now, I was vaguely trying to be cool and bop along to my mp3 player and act like I didn't notice it was the hot dude, 'cause elevator rides with just one other person are always so fucking awkward as-is, without adding the "Hi, I think you're soooo hot" factor. But for some reason, my mouth decided it would be fun to talk. So, loooking at the TV myself, I see that it's currently running a story about how many mountain goats there are in North America (apparently 40,000?). And before my brain can engage and confirm that I won't sound like a complete fucking tool, I say, "It's about mountain goats."

The dude looks at me as though I have grown a second head. "What?" he says.

I nod towards the elevator TV. "Mountain goats. They're running a story on how many mountain goats there are in North America. About 40,000 apparently."

He smiles, half scared, half bemused.

I try to grin winningly. (Pretty sure I failed to look anything other than kooky.) "Don't they run the most useless stuff?"

He sort of shrugs. Just then, we reach our floor. He politely lets me out first, and we're walking towards opposite parts of the floor. He calls behind me, "Have a good day."

I'm sure I'm blushing six shades of red - by now my brain has caught up with my fucking stupid mouth. "You, too!" I say, and bolt for my cube.

Lest anyone think I am any kind of cool, this is the kind of shit that happens to me when my hormones get the better of me. I talk to hot guys about mountain goats. Only in my life!

1 comment:

River said...

Can I just say, "been there, done that (not with mountain goats, but might as well have been), got the t-shirt."

Makes for a cute story, though. :)