I’m officially a terrible human.
At least that’s how I feel.
Have you ever felt like you’ve done something that really isn’t expected from someone of your age, position or appearance?
How about if you’ve done something that checks all three of those things? You’re an adult, you have kind of a respectable job, and you can usually be seen wearing professional attire, looking all serious and shit – would those three things combined make you feel like you need to behave a certain way?
If you’re like me, I’m first of all very sorry for you, but I’m also understanding of your feelings and you’d be happy to hear that I, too, suffer from our society’s expectations of us based on their perception of how we should be, and not of how we really are.
Earlier tonight, me and my girlfriend decided to go to the gym, which we have successfully done quite regularly the latest couple of months in order to not look like two complete bums who watch the entire Lost series in a way too small amount of time.
Usually, this is our routine: we change into workout clothes, head out to the elevators, take the elevator from the 43rd to the 44th floor, walk outside, turn left and walk alongside the rooftop pool*, head up one flight of stairs to the 45th floor, enter the gym, exercise for a while, feel like Johnny Bravo, flex for a while, feel like Johnny Bravo some more, then head back home, and give ourselves a nice, warm pad on the back.
This time, however, was different.
This time, after we changed into workout clothes and headed to the elevator, but before we stepped into the elevator, something… occurred. Something unpredictable. An unforeseen development.
Since my brain is moronic and random, I got a magnificent idea. My brain decided that it’d be great fun if I started to run away from my girlfriend and beat her to the elevator, leaving her to wait for the next one.
I know, I’m hilarious and mature and a true gentleman.
This is when a higher power decided to interfere and punish me for being lame and immature and a douchebag instead of those three nice things I just mentioned.
As I was fully sprinting towards the approaching elevator and the slowly opening elevator doors, excited from my brilliant idea, A WILD OLD MAN SUDDENLY APPEARS out of nowhere.
There he was, quietly and peacefully minding his own business, surely after a long, hard day’s work, counting down the last steps before he opens his door and sets foot in his condo. As soon as the elevator doors opened, there I was, right up in his face, coming at him in full speed.
Naturally, he freaked out, made a shocked face and grunted angrily, which kind of sounded like “HAAAUGGHHH!?”, and then just cold-bloodedly stared at me while I tried my best to comfort him and apologise for my sick and childish behaviour. He then decided that he didn’t need my desperate apology and continued to stare at me in disgust while I embarrassingly entered the elevator and watched him watch me while the doors were closing oh so slowly. Had he decided to physically take me down and kick me victoriously in the stomach, no blame would be headed his way.
To sum things up, let’s establish what I have accomplished here:
I didn’t only almost succeed in physically assaulting and attacking an old man, I think I almost gave him a heart attack as a result of my sick interpretation of the concept of fun.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such an idiot.
This post was written in October (or something) and it’s been stuck in draft limbo ever since. You’d be very pleased to know that I still haven’t had to share a silent, stink-eyed, tormenting and excruciating elevator ride with this man since that night I almost killed him (and he contemplated killing me for almost killing him).
No, not that stink-eye, this stink-eye:
Although I’ve seen him around the lobby collecting his mail as I’m hiding from him behind the plants with the mosquitoes in the corners of said lobby, creepily watching him from afar, in pure fear of being confronted.
* = brag