I worked late yesterday and the office was pretty much empty by the time I called it quits. I headed out to the elevator bank on the 18th floor and pushed the ‘down’ button but nothing happened-no light, no ‘ding’, nothing. So I obviously did what anyone else would do in such a situation and rapid-fire hit the button thirty or forty times to make sure it was really broken.

It was.

I stood there for a few minutes weighing my options. I could try hitting the button a few more times, but my recent experience indicated that that wasn’t the best method. I mean, I did it anyways, but still. My other option was to take the stairs, which would normally be fine except for that the building was kind of empty so I figured the stairway would be creepy. Oh and also, I think I used up my spare lives the last time I tackled the stairs at work (more here) and I didn’t really feel like plummeting to my death, especially if no one was there to awkwardly ask me if I was okay afterwards.

While I was trying to figure out if I could just sleep under my desk for the night or rappel down the side of the building using a rope that I MacGyvered out of napkins and paperclips, the door opened. I hopped on, pleased with my luck, and pushed the button for the first floor. The elevator started down but came to a stop at the floor below us. I thought it odd since people almost never get on at that floor, especially so late in the day.

No one got on.

An alarmist by nature, I obviously jumped right to the conclusion that I had been inserted into a horror movie and would soon be facing a machete-wielding loon (naturally) and tried to remember what I learned from the Scream films (don’t run up the stairs, don’t bother trying to get into a car, it won’t start anyways, don’t fall like a dummy and then turn around and scream while the killer approaches).

The doors shut and I breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a gasp of fright when the elevator stopped again at the next floor. I stared owl-eyed at the kid who got on, trying to size him up as a potential killer, and he stared right back at me, probably sizing me up as a lunatic. Luckily this guy was he mayor of Nerd City so I deemed myself safe.

(Please note that I usually try to refrain from name calling, but this kid ended up being rude so he kind of had it coming.)

So Nerd Ferguson got on and I turned to him and said:

“I think the elevator is stopping at every floor.”

Unfortunately I had just put 3 Tic Tacs in my mouth and it sounded like I had a real lisp going.

Nerdly McNerdpants turned to me and said:

Nothing.

Oh and also, he didn’t turn to me. He stared straight ahead and heaved a gigantic, irritated sigh. And sure enough, the elevator stopped at the next 15 floors. With every floor, Sir Nerdleson grew more agitated and I grew more delighted. It started off as a snicker at floor 15 and it escalated to straight up guffaws by the time we got to the lobby. I couldn’t stop. The more annoyed he got, the harder I laughed. I don’t know why I found it so funny; I guess I’ll toss it in the same category as laughing really hard while trying to walk around in a wind storm, as mentioned here – it doesn’t make sense, but that doesn’t make it any less hilarious.

So it came as no surprise that Nerdface got the heck out of Dodge as soon as the elevator doors opened. I hope I see him around again soon, I think we really hit it off.