June 11, 2004
Waiting for the elevator
The lobby walls are some kind of granite - light gray, with flecks of pink and black and white. It strikes me as familiar for some reason (besides seeing it every day going to and from work). Then it hits me: Oh, it looks just like Corian. Pathetic, I know.
I had the elevator to myself. I scowled at my reflection in the shiny walls. I tried to mold my expression into one of friendliness and approachability - after all, it's an important skill to have as a librarian, whether or not I should be smiling as I'm walking down the street. I ended up just making faces. That must've been a riot for the guys at the security desk manning the elevator cameras.
Yesterday I decided to walk up the train station escalator, whether I felt like it or not. I saw that Kind Lady was already on it, looking around. Maybe she realized she weirded me out and wanted to apologize, or maybe I'm just imagining that. Having committed, when I walked past, I said "Hi" and tried to smile, she said "Good morning" and I hauled ass for the rest of those steps.
I think I've flogged myself enough this week. Tonight Scott and I are going to see Teena Marie, Rick James, The Ohio Players and Rose Royce at the Fox. Scott knows their music far better than I do, but it promises to be an amazing show of old-school funk and R&B. So you jaded hipsters will just have to sigh while I boogie like there's no day after tomorrow - from my orchestra seat in Center Stage, Row G. My friend in Accounting has made me promise to tell her all about it, so I've still got credibility with somebody.
And yes, I do wonder if the man himself will declare "I'm Rick James, bitch!" (For those of you who don't know the comedy of Dave Chappelle, this is actually a funny punchline that unfortunately is now overused by those who are neither Rick James nor Dave Chappelle.) If you're interested, check out the clip - it's the second one labeled "Rick James."