I don't make it out to the big city all that much. I don't even like leaving my own driveway unless my stock car or boat is in tow. But, every so often I have to get out to the land of concrete parks to fulfil some sort of obligatory PR appearance or meet with the bigwigs to discuss "strategy" or have a "brainstorming" session. I hate it - I just hate going there. What's more, I hate the elevators - not so much the elevators themselves, but the people with no elevator etiquette. I'm Mr. Fishwrench, and these are my elevator rules:

Don't look at me. I'm not looking at you, so don't look at me. If you need something to look at, the numbers on the front of the elevator are about the only option. Some people in the past have taken an interest in the elevator floor - that's fine too. Just don't talk to me.

Don't talk to me. Of all the things you could do on an elevator, talking to me is the worst one you could choose. I don't know you, I don't even think I'd like you, so don't take it upon yourself to strike up a conversation. Don't ask me if I was fishing, don't ask me if I'm a racecar driver. Just, don't ask me. I don't want you to ask, and I don't want to answer.

Don't talk to someone else. I don't care if it's your friend or not. Don't get chatty on the elevator. Stop your conversation when you get on the elevator, and resume it when you get off. When you talk to someone while I'm on the elevator I somehow feel like I'm part of the conversation. I don't want to have to hold my ears closed, so you should just keep your pie-hole shut until it's time for you to get off.

Mr. Fishwrench