I should've brought my larger tote bag. It's always a struggle when all my groceries don't fit that one foldable bag that I bought from Hong Kong many years ago; more so with the knowledge that it happens every week and, therefore, I really should've brought my larger tote bag.
There was one other person in the elevator when I got in. She was also bringing a lot of things like me, but she had a push cart, so she looked much more relaxed.
It also meant that, as I hobbled into the elevator, I got a good look at what she was wearing: a black shirt with the logo of Kessoku Band.
Have I talked about it here? I have been spending more time on the Once Monthly for the last, well, four years that I am seriously starting to abandon this place. Okay, I'll keep it short. Kessoku Band is the fictional band at the center of Bocchi the Rock!, one of the best anime series I've watched in the last, well, four years. It's nice to see a shirt like that in the wild, so I thought it'd be a good idea to tell the lady that I acknowledge the shirt, that I think it's cool... and indirectly, that I know what the shirt is.
But, you know, that would be creepy, wouldn't it?
I mean, I'm sure I'm not being creepy, but who cares what I think, right? Anyone else will say it's creepy, me remarking on a woman's outfit, even when there's absolutely no physical undertone or anything. Just the logo, nothing more.
Also, the notices around the condominium complex always talk about how we should be coming together as one community, and wouldn't this be a good example? Wouldn't this be good for me, someone who lives alone? Me, reaching out to neighbors, even if I don't know what floor they're in?
Yeah, so much for community, you creep.
I hobbled out the elevator first.
But then, sometimes, you can't help it. I don't mean remarking on other people's outfits, per se - but you can't help but acknowledge that there are other people in the same space as you, and it's naturally human to interact with them. For as long as you don't mean any harm, of course.
Today I hobbled into the elevator again, carrying more bags than I left the flat with. My shoulder bag, my laptop bag (essentially the Monocle tote bag that I've been using for so long) and a couple of paper bags containing tokens of appreciation from a moderating gig earlier that morning. (Yes, more wine.) Inside was a nanny, carrying her two-year-old ward, and quite preoccupied with entertaining her.
"Ding, dong," she said, imitating the sound the elevator makes when it stops at a floor.
I go in. The door closes.
"Ding, dong," I said, looking straight ahead, trying not to overly acknowledge the kid, although clearly I am.
Just like that, the nanny knew that I was playing along. She giggled a bit and talks to the girl. "What does the elevator say?" she asked, without getting any answer. They were getting off first, so it wasn't for long.
"Ding, dong," I said, right alongside the elevator, still looking straight ahead.
The girl was probably holding back her giggle, but she was looking at me as her nanny, who was probably enjoying herself more, walked out.
And then I laughed.
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