8.03.25: Specific Rage

There’s a specific kind of rage that only comes when you live on the 14th floor and someone presses every single button on the way down. Babies get a pass. Tourists get a warning. But locals? Come on. You know the rules. I once rode 14 floors down with someone who hit 3, 6, 9, and then got off at 10. I still think about that person. Who raised you? Elevators are like public transportation for people with money. There’s etiquette. There’s flow. And some people treat it like an arcade game. I’m watching you, button-masher.