Time: 7:30 p.m.
Location: The elevator in the office building
I enter and hit the button for the ground floor. The doors open on the 1st floor and a guy enters carrying two enormous garbage bags filled with what looks like shredded paper. He apologises, and I nod. I have no idea what he’s just apologized for. The elevator is fairly large and dry garbage is hardly a bother. As the elevator heads past the mezzanine floor, he turns to me and asks, “You want paint for your fingers?” I look at him and even before I’ve processed the meaning of the question, I shake my head firmly, my ‘I-don’t-talk-to-strangers’ face falling into place. “For leg?” the man persists, although he’s now fairly sure of the answer, because he’s shaking his head and saying no to himself. The doors open and I quickly put as much distance between the janitor-painter and myself before I ask, “Did he mean ‘pain’ by any chance?”
Ever noticed how one weird question inevitably leads to another?