Working To Death.

I think it's hilarious when people ask me "How's work going?" with a sympathetic tone in their voice. Like "Oh poor you." As if they feel sorry for me.

They can spare me their pity. Because honestly? WORK IS AWESOME! I'm loving it. Going to work is completely enjoyable for me. It's a great source of fulfillment in my life at the moment.

But if there is one thing that bothers me about work?

The elevator.

People, this thing is CRAZY.

First of all, every time you press the button to call it, there are horrendous creaking and moaning noises that sound like someone is beating the Tin Man to a vicious death with his own oil can.

Secondly? The doors are 100% evil.
They don't give a care if you are trying to hold the elevator for someone.
Those doors will just SLAM close...trying to chop off your arm in the process.
Either the sensor is defective or else it was a casualty of the Tin Man beating. I'm not sure.

So once I make it inside the elevator with all my appendages still attached, I always have to tell myself: "Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't look up."

Because all I can think about it is how much the top of the elevator looks like the elevator scene in Silence of the Lambs.

And you KNOW that scene in Silence of the Lambs.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

(Yeah, that scene. I'd insert a picture for you but I'm afraid to google that image. I won't sleep for a week.)

So I'm thinking that's how I should answer people's pity-filled question of "How is work going?"

Me: "Well, it's going great, Beth! As long as I don't have to take the Elevator of Death. I just pray the whole time that he won't eat my liver with a side of fava beans and nice chianti, you know?"