Elevator Small Talk

Lord help me, I've got a slight rant today.

What had happened was, a couple of months ago at work my office went from being in a little historic house to a high rise tower in the heart of Downtown. At first I thought this was pretty cool but that feeling faded faster than my sobriety on my 21st birthday did.
The sole reason for this decrease in feelings towards my fancy high rise office?

Elevator small talk.

Hate. Loathe. Despise. Chris Brown.

Honestly, I'm a friendly person, at least I am on most days, but there is absolutely nothing about uncomfortable small talk with a stranger at 8am that I want to be apart of. Ever. Unless you're an attractive male... but that doesn't happen too often. Unfortunately.

Plus, the attractive ones don't want to participate in the small talk either. No, it's the old men who wear way too much cologne, have creepy mustaches, and probably drive an unmarked white van with no back windows. Those are the ones who want to talk about coffee consumption and the weather while you're just trying to chug down your coffee and shake off your hangover.

The worst part of it all is that you're just stuck and confined in those 4 walls, watching the numbers rise and rise, wishing your office wasn't so damn high up in the tower. You can sit there and pretend you're playing on your phone all you want but we all know phones don't work in the elevator, so now you're just the asshole avoiding everyone.

I digress.

Luckily on most days, the creepers in suits look at me like I'm an alien because, well, we all know what my typical work attire consists of (hint: the name of this blog). Those judgers keep to themselves and that's my idea of a great day... but that's another story for another time.

Time for me to go catch up on this pile of work stacked on my desk.
Here's to hoping I can avoid the classic end of the day small talk... which I usually avoid anyways once I throw the old "is it happy hour yet?" awkwardness out there.

Which reminds me... is it happy hour yet?