Huh?
There's this dirty look I get from the woman in the elevator and I'm curious as to why until I realize the damn car is going up and the original intent was to go down to the lobby.
So I'm wondering why we're going up. After all, I got on on four, pressed the button for "L" and automatically straightened my posture and looked for telltale bits of towel fuzz, toothpaste goop, eye sludge and whatever else gravitates towards me in the all mirror, all the time elevator.
Nothing. I check out clean. I can confidently cross the massive atrium of the Grand Hyatt, wonder why they are floating a grand piano in the middle of a pool and fountain that little children are scolded not to throw pennies into or you'll hit the Steinway without fear of dragging a sheet of toilet paper on your heel syndrome.
I can kind of see Lenny DiCaprio hanging onto the keys shouting something about being king of the world while the breakfast buffet is being set up. Not that that has anything to do with my sudden inability to use the elevator. I'm going up. She's tossed me her micro-scowl, punched eleven and I'm embarrassed at being there for no reason whatsoever. Like yesterday when I got off and headed to my room and realized I was at least a hundred rooms off, everything started with a three when I was supposed to be in four-land. Yep, wrong floor. What's with that? Admittedly, I can be clumsy, awkward and distracted but it takes a lot to set me off course. Once, when I was in final exams I drove "home" only to find myself idling in the airport parking lot a half an hour later not knowing what the hell just happened here.
It's been that way all weekend long. One minute I'm on the interstate and the next I'm on the side of the road admitting to 80 in a 65 zone and getting a stern warning that I'm grateful is going to cause me a little flush but leave me flush. Sorry 'bout that officer, but as you can tell, I have no idea how I got here in the first place.
It didn't hit me until dinner which is to say I was having some great pasta and seafood with my friend Jim and he explained to me why I've suddenly lost my ability to ride an elevator and operate common household objects. Jim is a keen observer of the rabbit condition and Socratic in that his questions force the student to answer his own.
"So, get off on the wrong floor and not know why lately?"
You're on to something here.
"What's her name?"
Sudden, unintended stupidity syndrome. What a nice problem to have.
Bunny on.
So I'm wondering why we're going up. After all, I got on on four, pressed the button for "L" and automatically straightened my posture and looked for telltale bits of towel fuzz, toothpaste goop, eye sludge and whatever else gravitates towards me in the all mirror, all the time elevator.
Nothing. I check out clean. I can confidently cross the massive atrium of the Grand Hyatt, wonder why they are floating a grand piano in the middle of a pool and fountain that little children are scolded not to throw pennies into or you'll hit the Steinway without fear of dragging a sheet of toilet paper on your heel syndrome.
I can kind of see Lenny DiCaprio hanging onto the keys shouting something about being king of the world while the breakfast buffet is being set up. Not that that has anything to do with my sudden inability to use the elevator. I'm going up. She's tossed me her micro-scowl, punched eleven and I'm embarrassed at being there for no reason whatsoever. Like yesterday when I got off and headed to my room and realized I was at least a hundred rooms off, everything started with a three when I was supposed to be in four-land. Yep, wrong floor. What's with that? Admittedly, I can be clumsy, awkward and distracted but it takes a lot to set me off course. Once, when I was in final exams I drove "home" only to find myself idling in the airport parking lot a half an hour later not knowing what the hell just happened here.
It's been that way all weekend long. One minute I'm on the interstate and the next I'm on the side of the road admitting to 80 in a 65 zone and getting a stern warning that I'm grateful is going to cause me a little flush but leave me flush. Sorry 'bout that officer, but as you can tell, I have no idea how I got here in the first place.
It didn't hit me until dinner which is to say I was having some great pasta and seafood with my friend Jim and he explained to me why I've suddenly lost my ability to ride an elevator and operate common household objects. Jim is a keen observer of the rabbit condition and Socratic in that his questions force the student to answer his own.
"So, get off on the wrong floor and not know why lately?"
You're on to something here.
"What's her name?"
Sudden, unintended stupidity syndrome. What a nice problem to have.
Bunny on.
posted by The Caustic Bunny at Thursday, May 25, 2006
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home