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If you look at human beings individually, each of us is a gentle, caring, intelligent person, Humans as a group, however, are selfish, careless morons. Regardless of how many Albert Einsteins are born, regardless of the number of Mother Theresas that give their life for others, we'll remain that way. There will always be enough of us, of the other kind, to even it out.
A stupid generalization? Possibly.
I find myself thinking about stupid generalizations since the elevator seems to be taking forever to move from one floor to the next, and in front of me is one of the many types of idiots you might encounter in this particular kind of vertical trip.
This guy seems to be unable to stop scratching his right forearm for some reason, a behavior that started as soon as the elevator begun to move.
We are now on the third floor.
He is going to the twelfth floor, that much I know. The other thing that I can see is his panic, clearly painted on his eyes, growing endless. Except for the scratching, his body is motionless, frozen like your typical deer in the headlights.
Generalizations.
I call it the Elevator-Claustrophobic-Hypocondriac syndrome.
I left the lobby shortly after Ted. I wanted to find Jordan and have a look around. Many people had come in to work already, dozens in fact, and I wanted to see what was happening.
Fifth floor.
The elevator stops. The arm-scratching stops with it.
A woman gets in.
As soon as she gets in, she pushes herself against the back of the elevator, her eyes helter-skelter as if there are not one, but thousands of invisible enemies that might appear at every moment. She looks at me with a mix of hostility and fear as I look at her.
What ails her is Elevator-Neurotic-Paranoid syndrome.
Sounds strange, I know. It might be an disease I just came up with, but it's real.
She can't stop thinking that they are after her so she can't stop looking for them. It doesn't cross her mind that they have better things to do than chase random people around. They have to, tou know, manipulate the international price of gold, prop up the good ol' Military Industrial Complex, things like that.
As the doors close and the elevator begins to move again, next to Elevator-Neurotic-Paranoid the arm-scratching begins again in earnest.
Sixth floor. The elevator stops again.
A woman and a man come in. The woman nods and mumbles a hello that barely manages to escape the trap set by what seems to be tons of lipstick. The man stands to a side and looks at himself in the mirror, combing his hair.
This is Elevator-Egomaniac syndrome. His world is little more than a fishbowl with a mirror in it.
Other people don't exist except to appreciate his greatness. Reminds me of one or two politicians.
Seventh floor. The elevator stops again.
When did all this people enter the building?
A man gets in the elevator. His face is as neutral as his death-gray suit.
The doors close. We move again.
The man that just got in says, Some clouds today, eh? It looks like rain.
Everyone in the elevator nods and mumbles something in response.
This is the Elevator-Weather-Forecaster syndrome. The worst of all. They can make an egyptian mummy raise from the dead, if only to run away flailing its arms about, bandages falling apart. That's how boring they are.
Eighth floor. Tension in the air. I look back, and I see the Elevator-Neurotic-Paranoid looking intently at the arm-scratching of the Elevator-Claustrophobic-Hypocondriac. She is wondering what it means, I can tell.
Ninth floor.
Tenth.
Elevator-Weather-Forecaster opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again. Maybe it was tomorrow's outlook on the climate? Some unconfirmed tropical storm coming our way?
Eleventh.
My floor.
The doors open. I get out. Behind me the doors close, silently mechanical, hiding all the neuroses and fears behind them.
I take a deep breath and I wonder, Where is Jordan?
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