It was 9:30 p.m. on a Thursday night.
I'd been at work since 8:00 a.m., in a small, musty client office located about forty kilometres further from civilization than strictly necessary, surrounded by documents that seemed to have been drafted with the express intent of exasperating some poor lawyer someday. I had just returned to my own office to wrap up the work. I walked in wearily, weighed down by three heavy bags, two dark circles, and the singular certainty of another late night, and noticed, without really noticing, someone entering the lift ahead of me. I sighed deeply to myself - the lift was too far away for me to reach before he left, even if I ran, which I was in no state to attempt in any case. I took it as another bit of bad luck on a bad day, and reconciled myself to holding my bags a little longer and waiting for another one of the lifts to come down, a complex mathematical process that could take anything from mere seconds to what felt like hours. I punched the button and got ready to settle into my discomfort, because obviously, on a day like this in a week like that, the lift was going to take hours.
Except it didn't. Instead, the light on the lift the boy had gotten into lit up almost immediately, indicating its presence on my floor, and an inquisitive head popped out - was I coming in, or not? He had waited for me! I rushed in with a burst of energy I didn't realize I was still capable of, and was overwhelmed enough by this act of simple generosity to breach the fundamental rule of awkward lift encounters: maintain silence.
"Thank you, so much!" I breathed with, perhaps, a little more effusiveness than was strictly warranted for an act that was ultimately not much more than simple courtesy. He smiled at me, somewhat bewildered by the crazy lady with the strong emotions, and gestured that it was, like seriously, no big deal. At this point, a few things happened at once: first, and most importantly, I noticed him - his plaid shirt and his awkward smile, how wonderfully unassuming and kissable he was. Second, I realized that I had crossed the point of no return - there were no fucks left to give, he was a cute guy, and I'd already painted myself crazy, so I might as well go ahead and find out if he worked here, if I was ever going to be able to see him again.
No, he said, in a voice and accent as wonderfully attractive as the rest of his being, even as the words themselves shattered my fantasies, he'd come to visit someone, but did I work there? Yes, I replied, and gestured ruefully at my office - because my floor had arrived, and evidently Hollywood had misrepresented the amount of time available for an elevator meet-cute, so all that was left to do was wave goodbye and watch him be whisked away from me.
I never even knew his name.
They tell me, in Bollywood movies and commencement speeches and WhatsApp messages, they tell me that if you want something enough, the universe will conspire to bring it to you.
I don't know if the boy in the lift was a result of all the wanting I've been doing, the personification of everything the universe thought I needed based on my vague, overwhelming yearning; or if he's to be the object of my wanting, to be mine when I've fulfilled the quota for desire and wanted enough to warrant such intergalactic intervention.
I don't know if this should be a "thank you" or a "please" - if it's time to be grateful and count my blessings, or to be greedy and focus my desires.
I do know, however, that the most likely outcome is that I'll go to sleep, drown in some work, and forget that such an encounter ever happened, that it had magical nuances that went far beyond "a cute guy held the lift for me and now I want to marry him".
Which is why, before I forget, here I am. With a thank you. And a please?
~Sam
I'd been at work since 8:00 a.m., in a small, musty client office located about forty kilometres further from civilization than strictly necessary, surrounded by documents that seemed to have been drafted with the express intent of exasperating some poor lawyer someday. I had just returned to my own office to wrap up the work. I walked in wearily, weighed down by three heavy bags, two dark circles, and the singular certainty of another late night, and noticed, without really noticing, someone entering the lift ahead of me. I sighed deeply to myself - the lift was too far away for me to reach before he left, even if I ran, which I was in no state to attempt in any case. I took it as another bit of bad luck on a bad day, and reconciled myself to holding my bags a little longer and waiting for another one of the lifts to come down, a complex mathematical process that could take anything from mere seconds to what felt like hours. I punched the button and got ready to settle into my discomfort, because obviously, on a day like this in a week like that, the lift was going to take hours.
Except it didn't. Instead, the light on the lift the boy had gotten into lit up almost immediately, indicating its presence on my floor, and an inquisitive head popped out - was I coming in, or not? He had waited for me! I rushed in with a burst of energy I didn't realize I was still capable of, and was overwhelmed enough by this act of simple generosity to breach the fundamental rule of awkward lift encounters: maintain silence.
"Thank you, so much!" I breathed with, perhaps, a little more effusiveness than was strictly warranted for an act that was ultimately not much more than simple courtesy. He smiled at me, somewhat bewildered by the crazy lady with the strong emotions, and gestured that it was, like seriously, no big deal. At this point, a few things happened at once: first, and most importantly, I noticed him - his plaid shirt and his awkward smile, how wonderfully unassuming and kissable he was. Second, I realized that I had crossed the point of no return - there were no fucks left to give, he was a cute guy, and I'd already painted myself crazy, so I might as well go ahead and find out if he worked here, if I was ever going to be able to see him again.
No, he said, in a voice and accent as wonderfully attractive as the rest of his being, even as the words themselves shattered my fantasies, he'd come to visit someone, but did I work there? Yes, I replied, and gestured ruefully at my office - because my floor had arrived, and evidently Hollywood had misrepresented the amount of time available for an elevator meet-cute, so all that was left to do was wave goodbye and watch him be whisked away from me.
I never even knew his name.
They tell me, in Bollywood movies and commencement speeches and WhatsApp messages, they tell me that if you want something enough, the universe will conspire to bring it to you.
I don't know if the boy in the lift was a result of all the wanting I've been doing, the personification of everything the universe thought I needed based on my vague, overwhelming yearning; or if he's to be the object of my wanting, to be mine when I've fulfilled the quota for desire and wanted enough to warrant such intergalactic intervention.
I don't know if this should be a "thank you" or a "please" - if it's time to be grateful and count my blessings, or to be greedy and focus my desires.
I do know, however, that the most likely outcome is that I'll go to sleep, drown in some work, and forget that such an encounter ever happened, that it had magical nuances that went far beyond "a cute guy held the lift for me and now I want to marry him".
Which is why, before I forget, here I am. With a thank you. And a please?
~Sam
