A Snippet of Human Existence

I pull my car into the parking garage on Monday morning and drive in careful circles, descending five levels below the surface of the earth. Condensation from the rainstorm that night has filled the air with moisture, striping the curls from my hair before they get to make their debut to my co-workers. The most direct path to the elevator is covered in a couple of inches of black and oily water which splashes my black pumps and the bottoms of my worn-out work pants.

The elevator door opens to reveal the awkward smiles of two people who parked levels below, making a pit stop for me as they make their way to the surface. I step into the confined metal box and am met with a sweet yet musty odor that fills my nose and stings my eyes. I cough lightly, trying to be both polite while also preventing the toxic smell from reaching my insides.

Perfume — if you can call it that.

I stand inappropriately close to the doors as they close, I’m hoping to get one last gasp of air before I hold my breath for the 5-floor ride.

We reach the lobby and the doors open. I’m not intending to be overly dramatic, but my body needs air so I burst through the doors as if escaping from a building up in smoke.

It’s thirty feet from the elevator to the revolving door. And two blocks and two floors to my beige-colored cube. I begin the journey. The same one I do five days a week.

I’m still recovering from the sensory attack when the marble polished floor and my shoe disagree. Somewhere in between leaving my house and this current moment, the rubber tip on my high heel crumbled off, leaving only an exposed metal screw. As if slipping on a banana peel, my foot is no longer holding me up. I am able to catch my balance before a face plant occurs — I suspect this is the yoga practice finally paying off. My coffee isn’t so lucky. It’s now dripping down the side of my hand and arm onto the floor, creating a hazard for those behind me.

There is a man in an oversized navy suit sitting at the security desk to my left. Each morning I look in his direction as I pass. I have no intention of initiating an exchange of words, but I will offer a muffled greeting if one is presented to me first.

On most mornings, it’s not until I have passed the desk completely that he then calls something out to the back of my head. On most mornings I spend a split second wondering if he is actually so consumed in security guarding that he didn’t notice me walk by. Or maybe his reaction time is slow. I settle on — he is pretending to be busy for some strange reason. It doesn’t matter either way.

I do my best to be friendly. Even if I’m walking on a highly unstable wet shoe, hot coffee running down my arm, being closely tailed by a human who seems to have dipped their body into a rank smelling tub of liquid before leaving their house… So awkwardly, I turn my head slightly and mutter “good morning.”

It’s barely eight am.

The air outside is heavy and I wonder if the faint smell of vomit entering my recovering nostrils is being carried down from the dog food factory a couple of miles away. I really hope so. Too far to hold my breath I wonder if breathing through my nose or my mouth would be more bearable for the two blocks.

I’m walking as fast as I can but I’m distracted by my shoes. The right shoe is obedient. The left is making a clicking noise as the exposed screw collides with the concrete. It sounds like I have a wooden leg.

There is a person coming up fast behind me. I’m not sure if it’s a woman or a man. I can only sense their presence as they invade my invisible force field.

I veer off slightly to the left to let them pass and my body relaxes. I roll my eyes.

I wonder why someone needs to get so close to a stranger on the street. I wonder if they lack the awareness of others. Or maybe they are just so consumed by their thoughts that they didn’t even realize I was there.

One more block to the entrance of my building. I look forward to the solace and dread of my small workspace. A place I both despise and have come to be so comfortable with.

I turn around the corner of a tall building and lose my protection from the wind, it’s cold presence slaps me in the face as I file into the crowd of nine-to–fiver’s heading to their desks. The cold air has made their breath visible to my eye. Even though it is now mixed with the general air, I try to avoid walking directly through it. I raise my coffee mug to my nostrils to avoid inhaling the scent of a stranger's morning breath.

I can see the door now through an oddly large amount of vapor that was just released from the mouth of the commuter in front of me. The cloud invades my space. I panic, only mildly. To my surprise, it smells delightful, like the taste of the hard candy my grandmother kept available when I visited her house, a wave of nostalgia fills all the veins in my body.

I finally reach the entrance and am met with another marble floor. I must salvage the remaining coffee in my mug.

Another security guard dressed from head to toe in a navy polyester suit greets me. I return a quick smile. The edges of my mouth barely lifting themselves. My teeth staying hidden behind my lips. I’m hoping I look busy, or late to a meeting. Not because I am. But because then my lack-luster will at least appear to have meaning.

Stairs or elevator?

I can see the reflection of the co-worker who walked through the doors behind me. I quickly note that they work on the fifth floor. I make a swift decision to take the stairs hoping they are not trying to walk off the Halloween candy they consumed the previous night.

I am right. I am alone in the stairwell.

My heart rate speeds up as I climb each staircase. I’m a little short of breath as I reach the second floor. It was worth it. The short time alone.

The halls of my floor are still quiet. I sit down at my slightly unorganized desk. I need a plant. We can both bake under the glow of the fluorescent light that hovers above my head.

I take in the quiet, only the slight humming of the printer in the background. Within minutes, maybe seconds, the silence will disappear into a symphony of coughing and sniffling from winter colds. People will join me in this space and tell me about the icy roads on their way to work. They will expect a response.

A pleasant one.

It’s 8:05 am.