I knew a man named Otis who invented a room
And his heart was filled with pride.
I said to Mr. Otis, “What does your room do?”
He said “it moves from side to side.”
I said “Mr. Otis, if you take my advice,
You’ll be the richest man in town.
Take that room that goes from side to side,
And make it go up and down.”

• Allan Sherman

Elevators confuse me. Not their basic function; I get that.

My confusion stems from my complete lack of a sense of direction. And, again, not the lack of the sort of direction that has had me wandering aimlessly through life, and led to a mediocre career or two. I mean the total lack of a sense of understanding of which way I’m going on Earth. North, south, east and west are perhaps the only words I know that have no meaning. At least not since the end of the Civil and Cold Wars.

Consequently, when I get off an elevator I invariably turn the wrong direction. Not just in buildings I haven’t been in before. I mean the office building where I work. Where I go every day.

I take a couple steps and see the office directory and turn around to go down the correct hallway. But first, of course, I wait for the elevator doors to close because I don’t want the people in the elevator to know what an idiot I am. It’s not that I’m self-conscious. It’s that those people are all watching me. And you can say that I didn’t talk to them or even look at them, that I’ve never seen them before and will never see them again, but it doesn’t matter. They are judging me.

I guess not having a sense of direction may not be my biggest problem.

But it’s why I take the stairs.

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Maybe it’s growing up in the sixties, but every time I see a sign on the highway that says “End Road Work” I look around for the protest.

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Because I occasionally fancy myself a writer, I always try at least three drafts when I go to have a beer.

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After taking the granddaughters to school, I sent a text to their mother: “We regret to inform you that while walking to school today, your daughter Alyce stepped on a crack.”

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