The professor is a patient person.
Usually.
Sometimes, I’m not, and that’s when I riot. #riotingisfun
A picture of me after rioting.
But, anyways and some, I pushed the elevator button, because I had to go up, after all.
Just up a floor, mind.
And I had to get there within three minutes. Not a problem.
Sadly, that’s when it all went south, like a buffalo running down a hill who loses control and starts to tumble.
You see, that’s when the hallway became packed with so many people, I feared–the sudden–for my oxygen supply.
Then there was a ding, and the elevator opened.
It was going down, not up.
“Dadblameit!” I cussed.
“That’s not going to help anything,” a girl next to me, who was also waiting, said.
“What’s not?”
“Cursing. It’s not how you should live your life.”
“But you’re as wrong as wrong can get, because I’m always right. It definitely helps. After all, Mark Twain and John Wayne said it does, and they can’t possibly be wrong.”
This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.
She raised an eyebrow.
The elevator came again.
And success!
It was going up.
But, rats and a heifer, there was no room.
That’s when the professor glanced at his watch.
Just thirty seconds now.
I ran to the stairs.
And wonders of wonders, can you believe when I arrived at the correct floor, the door to access that floor was handle-less?! No handle. No way to get it.
What made it even worse was the fact that I could see the place where I needed to be through the window.
The professor just couldn’t get there.
So…I rioted.
Riot mode.
The professor busted down the door with inhuman strength, charged into the nearest room, grabbed the nearest employee, and dragged him back to the door.
“What is wrong with your building, hmm, dadblameit?! Elevator service is awfully awful and there’s no handles on your doors! What is this? A giggle-joke?!”
“I’ll fix it right away, sir!” the fellow said nervously as he shook brutally.
“You better,” I said, relaxing. “Now you’ve gone and made me late.”
“I’ll make it up to you!” He was on his knees know, begging. “Please don’t hurt me!”
The professor raised an eyebrow. “A free lunch? That’s what I require.”
“Yes!! You got it!”
Double-dadblameit. That sounded so good, too.
That’s how I did it in my mind, see.
In reality, I stood there, staring through the door for a good ten minutes, before I decided to try to find another way in.
The professor was late, and there was nothing a soul, or ghost, could do about it.
The Punchy Lands! 