Checking Out

Stepping quickly into my building's elevator, thinking only about my cup of coffee and black and white cookie in my brown paper bag, I hear quick footsteps towards the elevator door from the hallway. After pressing "3," I step to the back wall of the elevator and face out, knowing that whoever is coming has time to slip in before the door slides closed, saving me from the over-zealous effort of holding the "Door Open" button. In steps a short blonde, Rollerblades strapped to a small backpack. The Rollerblades catch my eye, and I think that even with the Rollerblades on, I'm still taller than my new elevator companion. As they step into the elevator, they pause for the briefest of seconds, and I sense a look, too long to be a glance. I make eye contact. The blonde quickly turns away and presses the "5" button. Was I just being stared at? Does this person recognize me? I sure don't recognize them... The door slides closed.

Anyone who has ridden in my elevator knows how slow it is. Just going to the third floor probably takes about 15 seconds. Within this span, my eyes gravitate towards the closed door directly in front of me, which is what people tend to do when they're in an elevator, since it's rude to stare at your fellow passengers, unless you know them. This little blonde though, back against the wall to my left, is staring at me. I have pretty good peripheral vision, and not only can I feel myself being stared at, I can see the eyes looking at me. When my eyes lock forward, probably with a subconscious look of awareness, or the ever-telling single raised eyebrow of mine, the blonde turns away.

On the lit number three and respective ding of the intended destination, the elevator slows to a halt and it's finally my cue to escape. The door opens, and as if on cue, the blonde is staring again. Staring until I get out and turn left.

Should I be flattered? I guess I should be. Even if I was single though, that little blonde guy just wasn't my type.