So I'm in the elevator at work, wearing this t-shirt with an Escape key on the front. It's an item of clothing which, like many in my wardrobe, often raises a smile or some similarly friendly response.The lift stops before my floor and a few other people get in, including one bloke I recognise as a techy type having seen him crawl around under various desks and shouting down phones over the course of several years. I don't think he recognises me. To say we know each other would be a lie.
But this doesn't stop him from bellowing, "Ah, does this one work?" and, quite uninvited, firmly plants his pudgy little finger on the button in the middle of my chest chest. "Oh no. We're still here. Just as useless as all the others," he grins.
No one's quite sure what to make of it. Embarrassed faces all round. Still, despite this unexpected incursion into my personal space, I attempt to make the best of an awkward situation.
But the witty comeback isn't there. In the short trip down another couple of floors I mutter something about buttons, hopelessness and escape. But the door opens at my floor, I walk out, turn round, flash a smile and say, "There's no escape."
And as the door slides closed, he looks at me like I'm the one who needs his head checked...
