5 Simple Rules For Dating My Teenage Elevator.

There are 6 elevators in my building, serving only 14 floors. In short, you never have to wait long for one to pop open and magically whisk you to wherever you want to go. I’m sure there are wheels and pulleys involved or something, but it does feel wonderfully enchanted. I also have to point out that there are a lot of consulates in my building – Netherlands, Peru, Brazil and the list goes on. Most of these, thank goodness, are also on my floor. So I get to spend a large amount of time each day shooing lost souls out of my office as they wander in looking for notaries, photos or my favorite – the mythical ATM that is supposedly on my floor somewhere, possibly right next to a Yeti.

“Where ATM?!” is a frequent greeting within the front door of the office we pay over 3 grand a month to occupy. “Well hello there, little fella. Wow, they certainly don’t grow them big in the Yucatan, do they?” I offer him a chair, a donut and point to the coffee machine. No I don’t. “ATM. Where?” I usually shrug menacingly and point towards the broom closet on the other side of the hall. I think they keep Nessie in there.

Where am I going with this… Ah yes. Flocks of foreign folks come to my building daily looking for passports and the like. Fleets. Scores. It’s Ellis Island with fax machines. And should any of them ever Google Park Plaza and have a chance to read this post before arriving, I’d like to share with them 5 simple elevator rules.

1.) There are 6 of the fucking things. Don’t try and hold them open for your cousin who hasn’t even signed in with security yet like you’re fighting for helicopter space while being airlifted out of Hanoi.

2.) If you run towards the elevator when it is closing, and I make a concerned face and motion towards the side like I’m trying to hit the button that holds the door – I’m not. I’m pretending, and I’ve got to tell you it’s definitely always a high point of my day.

3.) If you’re trying to go back to the lobby, don’t get on an elevator that is going up. You just look like a silly goose and there’s nothing on the higher floors except more people trying to work who don’t want to talk to you and also have no clue where the Tibetan, braille ATM is.

4.) There are embassies and consulates in the building. Don’t look at the security guards like they’re stupid and ignore them, or pass right through the checkpoint so they have to come out from behind the desk like LT and tackle you. Actually, disregard that and keep doing it. It’s priceless.

5.) I don’t speak Spanish. I’m a nice guy and am actually inclined to help you find what you’re looking for. But learn the language. At least, don’t assume that my blatantly pale, caucasoid behind knows what the hell you’re talking about. You could be asking for a bite of my sausage croissant, for all I know. And that’s just unhygenic.

And the children you all keep bringing to allow to roam free in the halls and ring my bell or jiggle my doorknob until I’m forced to get up, walk over and give them the stinkeye – Are you trying to make me feel like my father? I’m just trying to get a little work done. Welcome to our country, now fuck off out of my office.