I have the oddest conversations with people on the elevator in my parking garage. For the most part, people generally ignore each other. But when you park in the same garage for five years, you get used to seeing the same faces coming and going. It breeds a feeling of, I don't know ... kinship? So people are bound to start chatting. Or babbling about random shit. I often find myself compelled to explain to random passengers that I always park on the fourth floor so that I don't have to remember which floor I parked on every day. As if anyone cares. Then there was the time I got on the elevator with two other women and a man, and as the doors closed, the guy suddenly announced, "Oh, don't worry about this knife. I'm a chef." And I looked at his hand and saw that he was holding a very large, very shiny knife. I laughed nervously and then berated myself silently for not noticing that I was getting on an elevator with an armed man.
This morning, there were two other women waiting for the elevator with me on the fourth floor. We hadn't said even "Good morning" to each other, but when we got on the elevator and started our descent, the tallest lady, who I think is a lawyer, asked "Do you think this qualifies as a manic Monday?" I smiled and said "It does for me." The other girl didn't say a word. And then it just felt awkward with no one else saying anything the rest of the ride. When the door opened I felt like I should say something else to the other lady, like "Hang in there!" or something, just to let her know that it was cool for her to talk on the elevator.
But, hands down, the best elevator encounter happened Saturday night. SkooterPie, Jesse and I ended up Downtown eating dinner. Jesse had a rootbeer, which he carried back to the garage with him. He was drinking it when some college-aged kids stepped off the elevator, and they did a double take when they saw him. SkooterPie laughed telling Jesse that those kids must have thought he was drinking beer. And then nervously he told the older couple in the elevator with us "It's rootbeer. We don't let him drink beer." Then the woman's cell phone rang, and as we exited the elevator, I heard her ask this question: "Macy, WHY is my car on fire?" We overheard a bit more of the call as we walked to my car. It was a lot of "Calm down!" and "Macy, I can't understand you" and a few more followups along the lines of "Why is my car on my fire?" That could not have ended well for Macy at all.

So, I bought my bridesmaid's dress on Sunday for April's wedding. She's letting us choose our own style of skirt and top. My skirt is an organza tea length, and the top is a fitted strapless with a little beading a the top. It was fairly easy to find. The top won't need any alterations, but the skirt will need to be taken up. The atmosphere in the store was kind of crazy. There was a DJ playing loud music, and the associates would ring a bell every time a bride found a dress. Why would you want to turn a bridal shop into a shoe carnival? Which reminds me that now I have to find shoes for the wedding. I really, really hate shopping for shoes.