Being Rich and Using Elevators

Everything in Abu Dhabi is either a palace or a high rise. I guess there are places that don’t fit those two descriptions but I wouldn’t know such common dwellings, as I am rich. 

Because of my financial depth I am able to live in a fancy building that has fancy elevators. Elevators that have mirrors. Shiny ones. And TVs in them. I get updates on the latest Hollywood break ups every time I leave my apartment. I even some times receive inspiration from the random quirky quotes generator on the TV. But fancy as they may be, I don’t like them. I don’t like any of the elevators. And I have to go on them a lot… because I’m rich. 

In Abu Dhabi, everything is tall, so everything has an elevator. The main reason I don’t like them is because occasionally there are other people in them. And despite my best efforts to remember Jesus’ call to treat everyone as if they were Christ himself, I fail. Fancy buildings have fancy people. And those people where nice things. Imagine the scene. They’re in their suits, dresses, and fine linened garb and me in my PE shorts. I secretly try to avoid them. 

I’ll enter the lobby quietly, push the fancy button, and stand strategically to the side. I will pick a place where I can see if there are people on the elevator when it opens. Then, I’ll walk by looking at my wrist (like I have a watch), use my peripheral vision, and see out of the corner of my eye whether I should get on or casually stroll away. It’s a victimless crime. Except this one time where I was a victim of my own folly. 

It was a regular Tuesday.  I did the norm and walked by the elevator calmly. I saw someone on there and kept on walking. It wasn’t until after the door had closed, and the elevator stayed on my floor,  that it dawned on me.  The person I saw was ME. The elevator had a mirror. That’s bad right. I was scared of riding the elevator with myself. 

Of course, I’m not completely crazy. If someone’s waiting with me I have to get on. If I didn’t, that’d just be weird. 

Elevators would be amazing if I was an alien from a foreign planet, or a dog. A door opens, you walk in, seconds later the doors reopen and the landscape has changed. The world you left gone and a new one in its place. It’s amazing!

But I’m not an alien, or a dog. I’m a man. A regular man who lives in a fancy building, with a fancy elevator, with fancy people, who I’d like to avoid. Living this life isn’t easy. 


Just being honest.