Don't you just hate it when you're on an elevator and headed up towards the sixteenth floor and all the way up there are people who keep getting on at every floor until you're crushed into the back of the thing like a Christmas Walymart stampede, hardly able to breathe?
Then there's always some kid who, no matter how packed we get, will still manage to whap you one in the nuts with his new toy and you can't even fall to the floor, so he hits you again and you finally manage to pull the toy out of his hand and stomp it.
Getting into that situation is worse than the football player whom the replay keeps showing clearly that he got it in the balls but he's on the ground in the fetal position, holding onto his head.
But at least he gets to be able to have two players help him skip and hop on tippytoe off the field where he once again goes into the fetal position on the sidelines.
Not on an stuffed elevator. There's nowhere to fall and after that second hit, I'm into the fecal position.
At least I've learned to fight back.
I get a big wad of saliva, the greener the better, and fake a sneeze so loud you can hear an echo going down the shaft below you. I tell everyone (although no one's blessed me but one and it sounded a little like a curse blessing) "I'm sorry but it's this crazy Swine Flu" and tell the guy who's toupee was blown off "better wipe that green mucus off your head before replacing the rug."
Meanwhile the kid hits me in the nuts with the toupee. Strike Three! I'm out!
Everyone thinks I've gotten something deadly by then because my face is solid white, my eyeballs stinking out of their sockets and I'm making gibbering noises.
At the next stop, everyone seems to be staying on the eleventh floor as everyone hurries off, but before the door closes back, a team of Japanese sumo wrestlers get on and I can't breath until I get to the sixteenth floor.
Next time it's the bottom two stories or I go elsewhere.
This is Andy Rudey