- Yesterday …
- Okay, maybe it was Saturday.
- Yeah, definitely Saturday.
- We went to Mi Tierra for dinner.
- Had fajita leftovers.
- They were not my leftovers, but I was told I could have them for lunch today.
- Which is nice.
- Nice to not have to worry about spending $17 for lunch downtown, you know?
- I had my bag slung around my chest, my coffee in one hand, the styrofoam container with the fajitas in the other.
- (Who still uses styrofoam?)
- (Well, lookie there. Apparently “Styrofoam” is a brand name like Kleenex or Xerox.)
- (No, you environment killing thing, I will not give you a capital S.)
- Scanned in, went to pull open the big glass door to the 14th floor …
- Which slipped.
- And caught the fajita container and my arm, flinging it from my grasp.
- Fajitas everywhere.
- Everywhere being mostly the floor.
- And my hand.
- Which after multiple washings still smells like fajitas.
- Sigh.
- Apologies to the cleaning staff.
- My fault.
- How’s your Monday?
- Mini fiction:
- He nodded to the woman behind the security desk as he entered the building.
- “Good morning,” she said.
- He echoed the greeting, lamented for the moment he did not know her name. Well, if it were really a she? It looked like a she, but he knew it was one of the latest bots from Boston Dynamics. Probably had a model designation and not a real name like Sally or Veronica. Maybe he’d give it a name. Later, though. The timeclock waits for no one, however, and he needed to get upstairs for a meeting … which started in four minutes. At least it was a Zoom meeting.
- He stopped in front of the elevator bank, mashed the Up button with the pointer finger on his right hand while the rest clung to the coffee tumbler. His other hand held a small square box of “gourmet” donut holes.
- The button’s yellow-orangish light lit up.
- He leaned around his left arm to check the time.
- Two minutes.
- Ugh.
- The elevator beeped. He fought the urge to step forward, reviewing stock footage of all the times he tried to rush onto the opening elevator while people tried to get out. All the awkward apologies to people he didn’t know.
- The doors opened.
- No one got out.
- He stepped on, looked at the bank of floor buttons and the card scanner.
- Oh, right.
- He fumbled with the ID lanyard, snaking his thumb behind the ribbon to extend the card toward the scanner. He wondered how ridiculous he looked if the security guard happened to be watching from their console.
- Card mashed against the scanner. The light turned green. He dropped the lanyard and thumbed the button for his floor, then stepped toward the back of the elevator, started to rehearse what he might need to say in the Zoom meeting.
- Then realized the elevator had not moved.
- He glared at the floor buttons. None were lit.
- He sighed, loudly.
- “Work, you stupid thing.”
- He repeated the card scan/button process. Why did they even have to scan a card still? Couldn’t they code these things with biometrics? Or even scan your card in your pocket? Why the old school tech? Maybe the building supes spent all the money on Sally.
- He refocused.
- Again, all the proper lights lit. Again, he stepped back, this time keeping his eyes on the buttons.
- The lights, which lit for a moment, went off.
- “Seriously?”
- He repeated the watch dance.
- Late.
- Officially.
- He stepped forward, tapped the “open door” button.
- Nothing happened.
- “C’mon, you dumb thing. Work!”
- Talking to himself on a Monday morning while trapped in an elevator …
- The elevator dinged, lurched upward for a second, then stopped, bouncing.
- He struggled to keep his coffee in his hand as his arm whipped out to catch the wall for balance.
- He glanced around, looking for a camera.
- “Help?”
- Again, it lurched upward, stopped. Lurch. Stop.
- He crouched back against the wall, waited. Counted to 100. Why he counted to 100 he didn’t really know, but it seemed a reasonable amount of time to make sure everything was … stable.
- He stood, stepped toward the buttons, then repeated the card swipe process and reselected his floor. The buttons lit up like they were supposed to. The elevator began to climb.
- “Thanks for nothing, dumb elevator.”
- He felt an increase in upward velocity in his knees, which flexed a bit. He flicked his eyes to the floor indicator as his floor came and went.
- He gritted his teeth.
- The elevator stopped at the top floor.
- He waited for the doors to open, visualized the door to the stairs.
- The doors did not open.
- He leaned forward, mashed the “open” button.
- Nothing happened.
- “Open the doors, you piece of junk!”
- He stomped on the floor.
- Which opened. He slipped into the dark of the elevator shaft, coffee and donuts flying from his hands as he flailed. As he fell, he looked up and watched the yellow light of the elevator vanish.
- Mondays, he thought.
- …
- End.
- Yeah, I dunno. That’s what popped into my head this morning getting on the elevator here at the Arvest Tower.
- I have never written list-based fiction before now. Nor let anyone read that kind of thing without massive edits. That’s a first draft. Heh.
- Also, that was before the Fajita Fiasco of March 2025.
- Also, I have to go read the comments from the Millennials in Friday’s list. I see there are new ones, but I have not gotten there yet. Been a busy Monday, even without the fajitas.
- Also, this was all written to Iron Maiden’s Somewhere in Time (album, not just the song.)
- Dunno, man. I listened to another of their albums over the weekend, Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, which is one of those concept albums.
- I have memories of the day that came out when I was in junior high.
- Sorry. Middle school.
- I really haven’t listened to Maiden since seeing them in Tulsa a handful of years ago.
- They played too much of their new stuff, which stinks.
- Purged them from my system for a while.
- Okay.
- I’m out.
- You have a Monday.
- Try to keep a good grip on your lunch, right?
- Stay safe!
Elevator Doors
skepticlysm 
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