On dealing with difficult people...

Taking a page from elaine:

T: Right. **sigh** Why don't people just get it?
M: Don't know...
M: More importantly: why do people who don't get it always try to do something about it?
T: LOL!

That takes a bit to digest, but damn M cracks me up.

Humour in the Elevator

If you are a potential employer, please do not read this post. That, or excuse this post about juvenile thoughts. I am a mature researcher. Really.

I recently had a moment of immaturity (it is surprisingly frequent, actually) and just as I was about to leave the elevator, I pressed all the buttons (so that the elevator would go to every floor after I got out). While this temporarily amused me, it suddenly occurred to me that any one of the dozen professors on my floor that I don't know too well, but who know me, could potentially be waiting to step into the elevator, thereby seeing my transgression against the societal elevator norms. (Consider equivalents: someone pressing the wrong floor, and no one getting off; someone ringing the bus stop bell, and no one getting off.)

It was then that I had brief moment of clarity where I saw parallels between three hypothetical elevator embarrassments. My question is: which of these is worse?

1. As you are about to leave the elevator, you press all of the buttons. As you get out, someone who is senior to you gets in, and gives you a friendly "I know who you are," nod.
2. As the elevator door closes, you relieve yourself of gas that has been pent up all day. As you get out, someone who is senior to you gets in, and gives you a friendly "I know who you are," nod.
3. As the elevator door closes, you relieve yourself of gas that has been pent up all day. To your consternation, the door opens back up, and someone who is senior to you gets in.

Some factors to consider: (1) was the gas of a "stinky" variety; (2) did the gas make a loud exit.

If you are a potential employer, I pledge to you that I will not press all of your elevator buttons or release gas in your elevators*.

* Usually

Repaying the Favour

My brother is a nice guy. He loaned his entire collection of Backstreet Boys CD's to a friend.

Today, in a crowded lineup inside of 99 Chairs (one of the school's restaurants), his friend asked him (perhaps a little too loudly): "Hey, so do you want me to give you back your Backstreet Boys CD's?"

It sounds like the stigma of the "pop lover" label still stings even so many years since high (elementary?) school.