Like every Saturday, I went to the gym today. The gym is in the basement of my old apartment building (Don’t ask why after moving out of the building I am still going to this gym. That’s another story.) so there are two elevators that take us to the basement. For the last couple of months, one of the elevator has been out of order so we can only use the other one.
So there I was with another guy and his female friend, and another lady waiting for the elevator to arrived. The door opened and in we went. The lone lady was the first one in and I was last. She pressed the button for the basement floor and the door closed. Nothing unusual there. Then elevator lunged upward a bit and stopped. A few seconds later, the door opened again to show us that we were still at the ground floor.
“What? It is not working?” exclaimed the lady.
“We’ll have to take the stair,” said the other guy.
“I don’t believe I’ll have to walk down the stairs!” the lady complained once more.
When we got to the gym’s reception the lone lady again complained to the manager that the only working elevator was not broken. By this time I was trying very hard to bite my tongue as not to make a sarcastic comment. Come on, if you make the effort to come to the gym to exercise, I don’t think walking down or up a few flights of stairs is going to kill you. No wonder why we have an obesity problem.
Lost in Colonisation 
Taking the stairs, God forbid!
I am a stairs person myself, but when Nikos was in a stroller, we would be forced to take elevators everywhere, and damned if I didn’t hate people who took the elevator and didn’t have to. I mean, USE THOSE LEGS!
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