The Elevator as Metaphor for Chaos and Theory

Tonight I stepped onto the elevator and was sucked into another mysterious conversation, this time, involving me.

“So the New Year is getting old, right?” said an Indian-American woman to me, out of the air the moment we got on in the lobby.

“Yeah, I said,” feeling game, “but I keep wishing people ‘Happy New Year,’ as if it’s just happened!”

I felt oddly drugged, as if my instant reply could not have popped out of a sober person’s mouth. I.e. who stands at the ready for such banter as well as I just did?

“But it’s nearly two weeks old now,” she told me.

“Well, is that a good or a bad thing?” I asked her.

Her floor dinged, she began to step out, but mumbled while leaving, “I just hope…tsk…” and was gone.

I was left behind with 10 more floors to ascend and a mystery to contemplate. I still have no idea what she hopes, and I, like the rest of my colleagues, am currently wondering why the office smells faintly like marijuana.