Randomocity

When I go to the restroom at work I struggle with the "pull down" and "pull up," so much so that I can't help but emit quiet grunts and labored breathing. I wonder what people must think I am doing.

Holding a sandwich has become more awkward of late, I often have to lean into my food rather than bring it up to my mouth. Today, about an hour after eating a very delicious chicken sandwich, I had occasion to pass by a mirror. I was more than a little disturbed to see a not-so-small piece of the sandwich stuck to the bottom rim of my glasses. I wonder why no one told me.

There are eight elevators at my physical therapist's office building, four on each side. The button is centrally located between the second and third elevator doors. Almost without fail the elevator that comes in response to my push is the one furthest away. I hear the bell and walk over to it just in time for the doors to close in my face. I go back to the button and press again. The same elevator door opens -- and closes. I eventually make it to an elevator before the door closes, but not before I smile at the little comedy being enacted in the hallway.