June 15, 2006
Love In An Elevator or How Not to Ask Me Out
Everyone always says, “you’ll meet him when you stop looking.” And by “him” of course, they mean the One. This is usually followed up by a story about meeting their significant other at a laundromat, grocery store or funeral parlor. So a couple of years ago when an attractive gentleman took an interest in me in our building's elevator, I thought, why not. After all, people in movies and on television are always meeting people in elevators. Heck, Jay-Z made a music video about it. And it wasn’t as if he and I worked together, we just happened to work in the same building.
Over the next year and a half our relationship progressed to a very normal and appropriate flirtation level; flattering and silly enough for me to comment on, but never disturbing. Friends that knew about my Elevator Casanova sometimes asked when I was going to ask him out. And while yes, I was attracted to this guy, he was good-looking, he dressed well, he was funny and out-going and had a job – I just wasn't sure how to make the leap from winks and smiles between floors to drinks after work.
So, I was delighted the other day when the opportunity presented itself. Casanova was getting off the elevator when I was getting on. We exchanged hellos and as I stepped past him, he mentioned it was his birthday. I wished him a happy birthday and he asked where his present was. In a bold, daring, and looking back on it, very bad move I told him I had it at my desk. The doors closed and I was overcome by fear for a moment that Casanova really would stop by my desk looking for a gift, but shook it off. After all, there was no way he could actually get into my office, and he must have known that.
Wrong. Apparently post-9/11 security at my office is pretty lax as half an hour later Casanova was at my desk writing his phone number and email address down for me on a Post-It. I returned the favor, giving him just my email address and again wished him a happy birthday. I could feel the eyes of all the girls around me staring at me; judging me.
A week went by and when I saw him next, we were both on our way out to lunch, we smiled at each other, said hello and that was that. Maybe elevator love is supposed to stay in the elevator. A part of me felt relieved the other part was slightly disappointed.
When I got back from lunch, there was an email from Casanova. "Great whether today huh? You are looking good and sexy girl. Could I get you drunk and out of control tonight?"
I suppose I should be grateful he didn't misuse the ellipse, still I couldn't get past that the whole thing read like a dirty third grade writing assignment. As if it was originally written on three line paper and at the end his teacher asked, who would like to read their paragraph aloud for the class?
However, for the moment I will pretend that verbal incontinence doesn't bother me. That one’s ability to communicate and select the proper homophone isn’t something I value. For now, I will just focus on the actual text – the proposition that I should go out with this near stranger, and let him get me uncontrollably drunk. Then what? We say good night, he puts me in a cab and I wake up with a bit of a headache. For some reason I don't think that is how Casanova was envisioning our evening ending. Sure most guys go out looking to get laid, but most of you also have the decency to pretend that that is not your intention, just a happy side effect of an evening spent feeding girls drinks.
So I did what any self respecting woman would do — I forwarded the email on to all of my friends with a note, 'This is why I am still single."
And, for the record, on a going forward basis, I will not date guys I meet in elevators.
The Devil Wears Brooks Brothers 