A Fairy Tale of Awkwardness

She was standing directly in front of the panel to the elevator. She had her hand hovering over the button. But she wouldn't push it. Her finger would dart forward and then stop, as she processed additional information.

"Yeah Mom, that sounds great. Well..." her finger moved forward in a move that looked like finality.

But the instant before depression: "...No, I didn't know she was getting married." Her finger rested literally on the button without the final bit of force to finish off the motion. She managed to tuck the cell phone into the crook of her neck and began fishing around in her purse for something, still all the while guarding that button like it was her own.

I stood there watching this dramatization go on, wondering exactly what I should do. I have moved far to silently, and she obviously did not realize there was someone else waiting. Knowing the level of reception one gets in the elevator, I fully understood her predicament and her plan. But how to alert her to the fact that I was waiting without bodily moving her out of the way?

She had now found what she was looking for (a pad of paper and pen) and managed to start scribbling furiously while nodding. Her hand had moved from the button, but her entire body still blocked off all access to the panel.

There was no good way to get into her line of sight without being very creepy and entering the realm of personal space. I could try to make some noise with my shoes and some excessive walking but my initial try left her still oblivious. And I felt it would not be prudent to start stomping loudly, because that would give the wrong impression. Namely, that I was insane.

Perhaps a light cough. "Ahem," one would say.

"Ahem." I said.

This was a poorly timed polite cough, as it coincided with her recitation of a phone number she had recently acquired. I was left with no actions.

By this point, I had been standing around far too silently for far too long. We passed the point of normalcy a while back, so now it was just ridiculously awkward. What if she turned around and realized that I had just been standing there for ages, mute for no good reason? I needed to find some way to alert her to the fact that I required the elevator, without letting on that I had just wasted 5 minutes of my life in silent contemplation of now ungainly timid I was.

One more try on the polite cough, and then I will just give up and take the damnable stairs, I decided.

"Ahem," is what I meant to say. But the cough was ill-advised somehow, and my tiny cough got caught in my throat and instead came out as a much more full-bodied "Cough, cough, (I am dying of pneumonia) COUGH."

She was bewildered, and spun around. By this point I was practically doubled over, trying to realign my windpipe, wondering exactly how these things happen to me.

We both get on the elevator.

"I hope you weren't waiting long. Sometimes I get distracted by my phone. You know how moms can be."

"Cough...no....ahem...not waiting long at all. I totally understand."

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This is how my brain works.