Dancing with Strangers

The weather was inclement the other day and I didn't think I'd get a chance to go for a brisk walk. So after I dropped my son off at school I remembered the mall opens early for the walkers. It was niiiiice having the cushion of carpet instead of the asphalt, and I got a lot of curious looks since I was by far the youngest among us.

The seniors gather upstairs at the food court to get Mickey D's coffee and enjoy conversation between laps or after their workout. So as I waited for the elevator I violated one of my own pet peeves (I hate it when that happens). In my haste to get on with the day's duties, I moved to enter the elevator as soon as the door began to open, assuming there were no passengers about to exit.

She was at least 80 years old, stood no more than five feet tall, bent with age and steadying herself with a cane. Apparently she and I share the same pet peeve about elevator intruders and as I moved in she snapped, "So what do you want, a dance?!"

Busted. I stepped back, bowed at the waist while offering an open hand, and to her surprise extended the invitation, "A thousand pardons my dear lady; would you perhaps rescue me from my own rudeness, and brighten this dreary morning by allowing me the pleasure of that dance."

And so she stepped from the elevator, giggling with delight as we waltzed to the muzac playing overhead. She made my day, and I like to think I made hers, too. Simple pleasures make the journey worthwhile.