Love in an Elevator

We recently instituted a new policy, banning eating on any of our guest room floors. With all sorts of finishes, we just figured it made sense not to have someone sitting on a bucket in the middle of a room, holding some sort of stew over our carpet so they wouldn't spill it on their shirt. Because they do spill, and when they do, they just walk out and move to a cleaner carpet. And then two weeks later we find some crusty brown spot with flecks of carrot in that's impossible to clean.

We gave all our subcontractors two weeks notice before the policy went in effect, which it did yesterday. So of course, I'm trouncing about today during break time, when I stumble upon a group of worker, huddled together in a suite on the sixth floor, munching away on whatever it is that they munch on. More stew perhaps.

So, I did what I was supposed to, which is tattle. Construction sites bear a striking resemblance to fourth grade.

I went down to our ground floor office and found my boos.

"Hey, I saw a group of guys eating on my floor, can you please call their foreman."

He did, and, since this particular foreman's stubborn and grouchy, got into a bit of a shouting match. We were right, because it's sort of our job site and were allowed to make rules like that.

Ten minutes later I got into the elevator to go up to the tenth floor. Before the doors shut, in walked the foreman my boss was just talking to.

"What floor are you going to?" I asked.

"[Screw] you." (He actually said fuck, but we want kids to be able to read this)

"This can't take you there."

"[Screw] you."

"Do you want me to press a button?"

"[Screw] you and your [Screwing] company." (plus "screwing company" just sound funnier).

He then raised his middle finger and held it six inches from my face for the whole ride. When we hit ten, I got off. He stayed in. He wasn't going ten, no, he just wanted to flick me off for as long as he possibly could.

Just over where he could sit for lunch. Fourth grade indeed.