Elevator Banter (this is Grogs fault) - Part 3

"Yea! You see that guy?"
"Yea.."
"That's the schmo I'm talkin' about. That motha-fucka looks like he got a sandwich stuck in his ass."
"A sandwich?"
"Yea. He look like someone took the jelly out his donut. Every day, same fuckin' smirk."
"Maybe its the morning hours that do it to 'em JJ.."
"Nahh, motha-fucka's usually here around noon. Grabs a a sandwich at the cart and comes up these very steps.."

The whole time these two are doing this, people are flashing their badges and walking by. Some never bate an eye in their direction, some wait patiently for a nod of approbation. Its a strange sight and things are never quite as fluid as they should be. On occasion, you'll see some statuesque model woman walk straight into a middle-aged lawyer, other times you see the suits prancing and posturing, "No you first! No, I insist, you first!" No matter what, its always a small and exclusive travelling convention. The thing thats so startling is that even with the 10 or 15 guards located on this floor, the most random of people seem to cross paths unhindered, some on the way to their desk with their morning coffee, others on their way with big, brown packages. Meanwhile the guards seem to be laughing and govoreeting amongst themselves. It's always "Yankees this.." or "Fuckin' Brooklyn cops.." or "You think Hilary's got a bigger bush than Bush?"

Sometimes the guys let the girls ahead of them but its really not chivalry. Its actually a call to debauchery because the first thing that happens when they wave the girls ahead ("Thank you!" say the girls) is their eyeballs drop and not to admire the new branded footwear upon their feet or the intricate marble tiling on the floor.

"Yea, so I told them to tell their people to be in touch with my people, and thats that."
"You know thats what they generally want. Hard to get, reluctant to commit but, 'strangely', hanging on. They want our business. They know and we know it."

The whole while just staring down, looking for underwear lines, looking to see more shape in the shape before them. What are they really saying...

"Yea, told you she has a thong on. And its red my man, RED. I'd love to tap that ass all over the board room. Where these women come from?"
"Man you got me beat. I was sure she'd be travelling granny style. We ought to get a new intern, get some kind of a game going in this place. We should ask her, you know she wants it.."

The whole while just thinking about how cool they are for saying this or how this image will come in handy tonight, ohhh, soo, handy.

All of this standing in front of an elevator. If only the fucking thing would open and suck up us faltering white blood cells into the dark, black ventricles of this electric heart. One, two, three, now four different people come through the turnstiles, holding some form of food or drink. One has a look of condescension; why should he have to wait with all of these peons? He is, after all, well-dressed and paid, that must give him some privileges. He strolls back and forth in front of the elevators while the rest of us bourgeoise stand by with various musical notes blasting through our piece of shit headphones. He can hear our music..

"Lean back, lean back" Stupid ghetto fuck, he thinks.
"Like a Rhinestone cowboy.." Ignorant fagat, he thinks.
"I must confess, my loneliness.." Man, I'd like to take her to the back room... (he thinks)
"Hush little baby, don't say a word.." Nazi Bastard, he thinks..
"We don't need no educat--" Drug addict, stupid shit.. (he thinks)

And then a bit from the 80s pops in. He turns to the listener.

"How you doin John? How that meeting with the Fisher guys go?"
"Hey! Not bad.."

He has found his long lost, Aristocratic comrade and DING! The elevator door opens. Out rush a small swarm of birds, all dressed in the height of modern fashion. Behind them stand all of the dogs, panting and salivating. They can see the shapes of thongs and their thoughts for the night will be complete (tonight its Jessica, the blonde slut in a short black skirt with slut boots..). I slip inside and grab a corner. The elevator slowly fills (one bird in front of the other) and the doors come to an enigmatic close, birds and dogs mixed in a wild, new-age romp. We can hear a song faintly being played..

"Its hip to be square!" and the Aristocrats bob their heads.