Iwas in the elevator with the puppy when a very large guy got on, then looked down and saw the puppy, who was sitting, leashed, on my right side. The large guy was about 6’4″, swarthy, lots of tattoos, and he squealed like a little girl and said, “OHMYGOD, it’s a DOG,” and then turned toward the corner of the elevator and proceeded to squeal and whimper until we got to our floor. No amount of assuring him that the four-month-old puppy only had thoughts of licking him consoled him. And the entire time, the puppy was sitting quietly, tilting his head, as if he was trying to figure out what was wrong,
This is an elevator system controlled entirely by our key fobs. There are no buttons on the inside of the elevator — you press your fob to the computer and select your floor before you get on, which cuts down on people wandering around where they’re not supposed to be, but man, if you really want to get off to put someone at ease, you’re screwed.
This is a pet-friendly building. There are dozens of dogs living here. I don’t know how this guy functions in this place. I felt sorry for him until he called my dog “Cujo.” (Puppy, still sitting, wagging his tail.)
You know, there’s never a day goes by that people don’t surprise the crap out of me.
