that no matter on what floor you work, the people – everybody – who work below you are bastards? All of them. Either they stop your elevator going up, or they interrupt it going down, but either way, they’re bastards. I’ve smiled and inwardly congratulated three people today for not being bastards.
The worst, though, is that we have a company split on two adjacent floors of the building, and the only way they can move between these floors is, apparently, the elevator. These people are the supermegabastards, for interrupting my travel not once, but twice, and contributing to their obesity in the process.
This post has been brought to you by the Campaign for Express Elevators. Thank you.