I have previously written the “Awkwardness is …” series in third person narration, which is tiresome. I’m changing the format.
So back to the entry.
I live on the eighth floor of an apartment block. Walking down the stairs takes an age, especially when half asleep. Needless to say, I use the lift. The only thing is the lift is small. A journey shared with a perfect stranger is to get to know that person intimately.
Yesterday morning, my oh so nice neighbour – with whom I have nothing in common – joined me in the lift for the third morning in a row. Sunday’s topic of conversation was the cold weather. Monday’s words were on the uselessness of storage heating. This morning’s exchange was different.
I was already in the lift when I heard his apartment door bang. His keys rattled. He hastened once he saw I held the door open.
“Morning,” he said in his usual cheerful manner. He flashed his good smile.
“Hi, again,” I said. It was 08.15 and I was not in the mood to talk.
He made some general chat. I looked up and cut across him.
“You’ve toothpaste on your face,” I said, pointing to my left cheek in an attempt to guide him.
“Really?” He rubbed his cheek vigorously. “Is it gone?”
“Yes, it is.”
It was only when spoke, I realised my observation may have been out of place. I was grateful when the elevator reached ground floor. I bolted from the confined space. I wished him good day and assessed the weirdness of commenting on a practical stranger having toothpaste on his cheek.