Asshole

Last night I step onto the elevator on the 14th floor of my building. Just before stepping on a guy steps off. The little light didn’t clear to indicate that this was my elevator, but I stepped on anyway thinking it was a little glitch (as sometimes happens). I pressed the B1 button to go to the basement and the door closed. The elevator headed up to the 15th floor. I closed the door again. Up to the 16th floor.

“Asshole!”, I yelled (in my head).

This old guy had pressed 15, 16, and 17 on the elevator so that he would have enough time to get to his apartment and back to the elevator to press the button before the elevator would pass by the 14th floor. He was effectively holding the elevator for himself. In a building with 17 floors, 12 apartments per floor, and only two elevators he felt that the extra time he may have to wait to get the elevator in fair turn was more valuable than those who might also want to use the elevator.

A part of me wanted to ride the course and return to the 14th floor, holding the elevator for this guy (if he wasn’t already waiting for it) so that I could give him a lecture about sharing. He has effectively proven that he fits the “you get younger as you get older” stereotype. But rather than him having the innocence and/or lack of wisdom a child might have, he has no excuse.

I decided, instead, to press the following floor buttons: 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7. He wanted to make me wait for 3 floors, so he will wait for 6. I took the stairs down–happily.

Update: The guy died a few days following this incident.