Where I Reveal The Fact That I Am A Bad Person

A couple of Saturdays ago, Blake and I returned back to our apartment after an exciting night on the town (which was ending at the grand hour of 9:30.  We are getting old).   We walked loudly to our elevator while we sang some random song (normal, for us) when we both heard banging.  We both froze and stared at each other.  We heard more banging and then the elevator alarm.

This is where Blake and I discovered our inner-evilness.

Seemingly at the same time, Blake and I came to the conclusion that there was someone trapped in the elevator and also that any sort of “help” would involve us spending some of our precious time waiting for the fire department and answering any questions they might have.  Neither one of us said one word as Blake mouthed, “What should we do?”  On the same wave length, I mouthed back to him, “I don’t know.  Should we call the fire department?  Or should we walk quietly the other way.”  We both laughed (silently, as not to alert the trapped people in the elevator of our presence), and dared one another to be the first person to walk away.

The people in the elevator continued yelling, “Hey!  We are trapped in here!  We don’t have our cell phones!  Can you help us?”

Finally, after too long of a pause, I sighed, said a mental good-bye to the episodes of Freaks and Geeks I was about to enjoy and responded, “Yeah, we are down here.  Would you like us to call the fire department?”