Whickety and/or Whack

Frothing rage on a blog? So cliché. But check it anyways, not like you're getting any gems of wit from me not writing. At least this way you can point and laugh at me when I go all off-color and capslock-y and start yelling about old people and assholes (Those two are unrelated, just in case you were overcome with any unfortunate imagery there. Not my fault.)

I've been in this extended bad mood for about 4 days now, and it's getting really ugly. Like, normally I am fine with pretense and smiling insincerely and making peace with imbeciles and all. This week I cannot muster up the energy. So in this story, I'm actually the asshole, but whatever, we are truth-in-reporting here.

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So when I get into work this morning, I get on the elevator with a woman and this old guy. I hit my floor button, she hits hers. The doors start to close, and the old man reaches over to hit his floor, but hits the ground floor button for some reason. Doors slide open. We both look at the old man, who just goes to settle back against the wall. Doors start to close again, old man realizes that the button he just pushed has gone out, so he hammers it again. Doors reopen.

Okay, this man is old, he's been around for some time, he has to understand how an elevator works, correct? It's not like this is his first trip on one, I am assuming.

So I ask him, "What floor are you looking for?"

Old man gets this ugly, accusing look on his face "I'm trying to get to the third floor, if this elevator wasn't broken!" (Apparently I am now responsible for this broken elevator) He hits the button again, as an example. Doors push open again.

I muster all my available peacemaking powers, "Oh, well I've already pushed the button for three, that's where I'm going, you're good to go."

Old man keeps hitting the first floor button, doors keep opening up. "No, see, I keep hitting the button and the light is going out."

He switches over to the most condescending tone I have ever heard used on someone over the age of 4 "You see, the button lights up when it's going to go to your floor." He hits the first floor button again for emphasis. "Only, it's not working."

We have now been standing in this elevator for about 3 minutes. I grit my teeth. "Sir, that's the button for the ground floor, that button above it that is already lit is for the third. See it has a three next to it."

Old man is now offended. "Don't take that tone with me. I know what I'm doing." He hits the goddamn first floor button again.

I have lost any and all sense of decency that I once possessed. "Stop hitting that button!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" (No, seriously, this actually happened. 'Don't tell me what to do.' This man is at least 70.) He hits it three times in rapid succession.

"Oh my God. Seriously, stop hitting that button."

He fucking sneers at me, and starts holding the button down with his thumb. Have you ever actually wanted to physically punch an old man? Do you know what that feels like? It's not cool.

Finally, the woman on the elevator with us (who has been watching the two of us go at it like a cross between a fascinated scientist observing something under a microscope and a spectator at the front row of a boxing match) comes forward before the old man and myself engage in literal fisticuffs.

"Sir, he's right, if you'll stop hitting that button, we'll go to the right floor."

I'm completely ready for him to turn on her too, like some sort of old-man/jackal that's been surrounded and backed into a corner. Instead, he stops, turns, and smiles sweetly.

"Certainly, my dear," and takes his thumb off the button. (Jason's brain: "AAAAAHHHHH!!!")

He finally steps away from the panel. We arrive at the 3rd floor without further incident.

And because I'm a huge asshole, when the doors open: "Imagine that, the third floor. Who would've guessed?"

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This week, man, I am telling you. I am not normally like this.