The outside elevator had been torn down with the coming of the glass exterior.  The inside elevators were running now.  All eighteen of them.  Sometimes you had to ride so many elevators to get to your floor, that it would have been faster to take the stairs.  But I’ve never believed in being fast at work. Shit, they’re lucky to have me.

     Anyway, true to the classist society we live in, there were separate elevators for separate groups of people.  Construction workers had their own dusty elevator, and the Suits and Skirts had the rest.  The construction workers’ elevator even had crude signs on the doors, ‘Construction Workers Only!’  All the other elevators had signs that read, ‘NO Construction Workers!’

     It’s this label thing I don’t dig, see.  ‘Construction worker’ makes you sound like a big fucking dummy, and I don’t like it smeared all over the building I’m working on. It’s probably why I drink too much and live in a trailer.

     A couple of Skirts were on our floor, waiting for one of the bullet-mobiles.  Spence was waiting with them.

     I ambled on over (I can spot leg a mile away).  “Sp- Sp- Spence-a Roni!” I said.  “I could fire you for using this elevator!”

     Spence turned every shade but his natural hue (which was pink).  The girls giggled.

     “Well?” I asked him.  “What will it be?”

     Spence opted to take the stairs.

     I rode the elevator with the ladies.  I am not a construction worker.  I am a person who works for an electric company.

2026 R.M. Reliable Electric