That Morning In The Elevator

*Don’t need no hateration, holleration, in this dancery -Mary J. Blige*


Last Monday I was trapped, inside an elevator, with a couple in a massive fight.

Note that I did not choose this violence on a Monday morning. The violence…chose me.

There I was. Running a tad late for my drive to work. Coffee traveler in hand, polite face pasted on my normal resting bitch face to the people in the elevator when the door opened, as it was 7:20am.

Immediately I recognized the puppy “Marley” and the man, who I pegged as D-Bag weeks before this incident. I have not seen the woman before, and she looked positively mortified that I walked into the elevator. She had good reason to look that way, because once the doors shut, the gloves were back off, and I was completely trapped.

Before we go any further: Marley was an adorable little Golden. Energetic to the extreme, Marley hated his harness and was used to running free, so was clearly set up for failure being trained by two different people with different ideals.

D-bag instantly broke the awkward elevator silence with a dramatic statement.

“So she is taking my own dog to the pound right now without even telling me”.

Immediately, I was perplexed. Clearly you knew about the pound, as you previously stated that she was TAKING it to the pound, and you are standing right here. You are very aware of this unfolding event.

Girlfriend immediately berates D-bag with a shrill ” PLEASE do not involve other people in our shit”.

I laugh nervously and, in my head, meaning that I get dumped on daily by psych patients, politely say, ” It’s ok, I work in mental health.” Haha?

NOTE: This was NOT the correct thing to say.

Dbag: “THIS IS NOT MENTAL HEALTH. SHE IS LITERALLY TAKING MY DOG RIGHT NOW. “

I looked over at poor, unsuspecting and completely stupid Marley, who was desperately trying to free himself from the woman’s grasp, and then glanced at the couple and immediately assessed that this was 1000% a mental health situation. What kind of personality disorder makes claims in an elevator against their own spouse/partner and tries to get a random stranger, trapped in a steel box on their side? Oh, let me count thee ways.

“It’s fine, I’m just going to report it as stolen.” Dbag proclaims, folding his arms and looking at me. Furthering my assessment that this situation was rife with mental health.

Girlfriend yells ” You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Marley panted, also making extremely prolonged eye contact with me, unaware of the situation at hand. Probably thinking about snacks, or squirrels. I would have given anything at that moment to have a dog brain.

” I will do whatever the fuck I want, this is my goddamn dog”.

” This is our dog, and you won’t train it properly”. I could actually back up her statement with facts, but I kept silent.

“What the fuck ever, you don’t train it properly”

I was waiting for the ” no you” but we were finally at the lobby and the woman got off looking at me specifically, with a very dramatic ” I’m sorry you had to listen to this”.

Embarrassed yes, but sorry? Probably not. It was the weirdest situation ever and I think she was ok with this little display. Maybe safety in numbers? Never mind that this woman was almost 6 feet tall, and I had to look up at her. She could have easily kicked D-bags ass in one shot.

I debated getting off at the lobby, but I wanted to avoid ALL conversation so I just sighed as the doors closed and was ready for my punishment.

D-bag naturally made things a million times worse with his mouth after the doors shut. Just two floors left of this complete penance I was enduring for past sins. For maybe 10 whole seconds he just completely let out a stream of unconscious diarrhea about how he can just report the dog stolen, but he can’t really complain about her in case she claims he “touched her”, etc. etc.

I said absolutely nothing and “shrugged” myself out of this awkward situation by walking very fast, with purpose, in the opposite direction towards my car once I was freed from the elevator. His voice faded in the distance, but he was still talking. To himself. Loudly.

I took the stairs down in the morning the rest of the week. Like what in the actual fuck. My entire week was off. This was absolutely a first, and I can confidently say I have never been stuck in the elevator with a fighting couple before and I hope this is the last experience.

I’m sure by now, Marley has been rehomed. Hopefully by someone who doesn’t live in a high rise. Marley needs open fields and a more Montessori approach to dog school. Where Marleys mom wanted structure and routine and a more public school education.

Marleys emotionally abusive Dad gave zero shits about any structure and sabotaged any sort of routine (as I saw) every chance he got. Marley was quite the biter. I had toes nibbled, a leg nipped (no broken skin), my purse chewed on the bottom. One evening I watched Marley unleash his bladder in the middle of the sidewalk, and then dribble all the way into the building. And this was just the things that I saw myself.

During my toe mauling-Marley was trying to crawl up INTO the leg of my cropped slacks, as D-bag was talking on the phone about “taking down pedos with the police, with an armed perpetrator” and grinning at me like he was Star-lord, oblivious to his severely misbehaving puppy. Meanwhile Marley was clearly the only one getting into all the women’s pants. LITERALLY.

I have not been graced with any of that family’s presence since the incident, which has been lovely. I hope D-bag was kicked out, girlfriend/whatever broke it off and Marley has a happy farm life.

The elevator seems to remain the biggest spot of contention in my building. While I am normally here for that, I’d like there to be less fighting with captive audiences please and thank you.