Ten Steps

I can’t even pretend to understand it.

Okay, I can… but still, it frustrates me to no end.

I work on floor six of an eight-story building. Six floors, I dare to say, is a reasonable amount of floors to take the elevator. So is floor three, in my opinion.

But those poor people on floor two. They have 10 whole steps to climb from the bottom of the building to their floor. Ten freaking steps.

Plenty of people in my building use the stairs. I’m one of them on occasion. But never, ever will you see someone on the second floor use those stairs.

I’m never *not* in an elevator with a person from the second floor. In the morning, there’s always one person who gets into the elevator for the second floor. On my way down, we always stop on the second floor to pick someone up. During the elevator’s busiest times or its slowest times, we have to stop on the second floor.

It’s 10 freaking steps!

Residents of the second floor— you should know everyone else in the building mocks you relentlessly. We all collectively groan when the flashing light stops on Two… and that group eyeroll you see when you go to get on? Yes. That was for you.

Ten steps people. Ten steps.

Burnt Popcorn

My office building has this office floor plan (read: waste of space) where the center of every floor is wide open, creating this square where you can see, hear and yes… smell, everything that happens on any given floor. So you can really visualize it, every time someone retires, we all go out to the railings on our assigned floors and clap for the escapee… err… retiree as they leave the building on the first floor.

No one in my building has been able to explain the architecture genius that is this too-open floor plan.

But never is it worse than when someone burns popcorn.

Forget just making popcorn, which turns your work area into a buttery movie-theater. But burnt popcorn on any floor of the building brings upon nasal suffering of 400 works who share the same air.

Rant over.

(Disclaimer: I enjoy ranting.)