The Elevator Date

 

We are on the 14th floor, and the laundry is on the bottom floor.

Well, not the VERY bottom basement floor, because that is a gym (I’ve heard), but it is on the ground floor. 

Which means that I have to cart all of our dirty laundry down the elevator, across the lobby, and into the laundry room.  Then pay $2.80 a wash and $2.80 a dry, and cart it all back up to our room.

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This opens the door for what can possibly be a very awkward situation.

Can you guess what it is?

Underwear elevator awkwardness.

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Let me tell you more, because it just happened to me last night.

After picking up our massive pile of laundry and loading it into our stroller (which I use to transport it), I wheeled my way to the elevator.

I was followed by a young, muscular English gentleman with HIS laundry basket. (Not CUTE, Brian, just young, muscular, and English).

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The elevator opened and in we went. Then, they shut.

And we were alone.

And I was inches away from his underwear.

Not just any underwear- about 10 miniscule, shiny black briefs!

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I looked at them, then looked away.  He saw me look at them, and look away.

Oh, the awkwardness!

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Then, I realized, Wait a minute!  He is inches away from my underwear too! 

And yes indeedy, there was the telltale hot pink color of a pair of my undies, shining like a beacon amidst all of the other blue colored clothing.

He looked at them, then looked away.  I saw him look at them and look away.

He pushed the button for the 16th floor,

And the elevator began its extremely slow climb.

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So,here I am, basically married to this stranger on the elevator (doesn’t seeing someone’s underwear = marriage?  My dad is SUPER happy to hear me say that…) and standing in complete silence.

Which means- yes, you guessed it- here comes the awkward babbling!

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“The laundry here still is expensive! Haha.” I start.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Where are you from?” (hear the accent Caitlin? England, obviously)

“England.” (obviously)

“Ah.  That’s cool!  Haha.  Haha.  Haha.”

He decides to jump in on the awkward-action “I know this looks like a lot of underpants, but I just leave the laundry in this basket, and wash all of it once a week.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

“Yeah, so most of it is still probably clean.  I should probably just put it away when I get to my room.”

“Haha.  Yeah, I used to do that sometimes when I was in high school.”

Which I MEANT to convey a kind of camaraderie- as in, don’t feel bad, I used to do that too.

But what really came across was, yes, I used to do that too…IN HIGH SCHOOL you loser!

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At this point we both gave up and opted for silence and averted glances.

Finally, FINALLY, the 14th floor came around and I began to make my escape.

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The man called out, “Cheers!” as I was leaving

I hear that a lot around here- it is an English thing?- and I am never sure how to respond.

Saying “Cheers” back seems pretentious and fake, but saying “Goodbye!” sound like I am ignoring their cheers, so…

“Thanks!”  I call back. 

Just about the most awkward choice out there.

Thanks for the elevator date, baby.  And nice briefs!

The end.