by Hugo Reed

Created on: January 12, 2009

It's 5:00 a.m. in the morning and your alarm clock goes off. You hit the snooze button and pass out for another nine minutes because heavens forbid they make it an even ten. Anyway, your daily ritual goes onward and you are eventually at your office or doctor's office, looking at the endless number of floors. You press the 'up' button and began to get into the elevator. Now, and might I add it is only now that this happens, you notice that there are a great many things you have to do, and not a single one of them is proper conduct when inside and elevator.

The first thing you'll probably notice is that you have to go to the bathroom, very very badly. Again, there is not known reason why the body waits until this moment torevealthis to you, but it has. Then next this is that you have to itch your back, and if only you were somehow tomaneuverto the side wall, you could itch your back and then everything would, at the least be just a little bit better. However, you are smack-dab in the middle of the crowd and you are, no way-no how, reaching the side of the elevator.

The next thing you'll notice is that none of this would be half as annoying if theaccursedelevator ride wasn't so long. After you're only going up so many floors, so why does it take a day and an age to do so? However, this is truthfully nothing your poor soul can do about it at this moment. Then everything in the elevator will becomenoticeable. You'll find out just where that booger in your nose is. You'll feel the ear waxing within your ears begin to pop and make itself known. Your sure that you can almost feel that spot you missed when shaving this morning.

The true problem is this, and a million and a half other things are tempting butcompletelyinappropriatewhen inside an elevator. You have to check and text back messages on your phone. You have to switch your ipod or mp3 player on or off. Your fly is still down from this morning and you know that is much be zipped up. You have a very good book in your bag you want to read, but again you are allowed none of this possiblywondrousreprieve.

So this pressure builds up. And builds and builds and builds until you feel as though you are going to explode and finally, finally I say again, the door slide open with a ding. You quickly exit and (for goodmeasureand anyone else left in the elevator) crack a large fart. However then it must follow you around so that all day you're stuck with saying "it wasn't me."

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