Tuesday, January 18, 2005

She held the elevator for me in the dark and dreary basement below the dining hall. I had never seen her before, but we smiled at each other as I slipped in the closing doors. She was obviously coming into work, still wearing her jeans, and tennis shoes, and green DKNY sweater that was the same color as the head of lettuce I was holding. I realized at that moment that I only feel odd in my chef's coat when I am standing next to someone in normal clothes. I then noticed that she was holding an ostentatiously pink purse that clashed dreadfully with both her sweater and my lettuce. It seemed like a scene out of a comedy movie. The straight on shot of two mismatched people in the elevator, both saying nothing, both looking odd with their respective pink purse and head of lettuce. Where the scene would have gone after that, I don't know, but I think it had potential.

But alas, my life is not a movie. Maybe that is a good thing. It would be mildly amusing with a vague plot and plenty of randomly confusing moments.

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