The hotel I work at has over 140 elevators and I spend a lot of time travelling in them. If I ever figure out how many pennies are in my Sparklett's water jug, I just might try and add up how much time I've spent in elevators over the past 10 years (again, me = no life whatsoever).
There's some amusing things you can do in an elevator full of people. My favorite is to whistle "It's a Small World After All." Every single day I see people get off on the wrong floor because the elevator stopped to pick someone else up. I use to make the guest aware of their mistake but I started losing my voice. Now I just watch them go. They'll figure it out.
One day I got on the elevator with an older gentleman. He was sharply dressed and was wearing gold, Elvis-style tinted glasses. He also had plenty of "bling" on his hands and around his neck. The smell of Old Spice and mothballs filled the elevator but he was not a wannabe mafioso. He was the real deal -old school Vegas. Armani shoes and a gold Rolex do not lie. That's how you can tell; shoes and watches are a giveaway that separate the money-men from the coin-boys. I wear Dr. Scholls and a 1986 Swatch.
We were descending past the tenth floor when he pulled a cigar out of his vest and fired it up. I think it was a Cohiba. The smoke and the smell filled the lift. The smell was better than the cologne-marinated mothballs but being the Dudley Do-Right I am, I decided to say something on behalf of the State of Nevada.
"Sir, I think you can pretty much smoke anywhere you want in Las Vegas, but the one place you can't is in an elevator."
The man pulled the cigar from his mouth and abruptly said, "Fuck you."
"Yes sir! Thank-you! Have a nice day!" I blurted.
FiN.
