Sacrifices you make for your family and really good blog topics

At one point on Thursday night, I looked outside of my situation and had to laugh. There I was, dressed like an Olive Garden server (minus the tie), spending the greater part of my night in the corner of a 6' by 8' elevator, saying things like, "Are you headed to the Penthouse?" and "Yes, I am actually the elevator operator." When I arrived at my temp gig, I found out that I was working at an upscale housing open house, and I was the one pegged to take the guests from floor to floor because a passcode was needed.

My first trip was a little rocky. The guy in charge told me the code, which I was to use until I got a sensor. I got my first elevator load, including two extremely flamboyant nice men and their dramatic female companion, who by chance had an elevator phobia. The doors closed and we started moving, and the code didn't work. Because I had forgotten it. I kept trying new numbers until I got to the embarrassing point where I had to explain myself and go back to the lobby and ask. The girl started freaking out because she thought the elevator was stuck, and when we reached the lobby she ran out, demanding water. From that point on, 4 hours in an elevator was not the death sentence I thought it would be. Elevators are a perfect place to crack jokes with rich folk who are extremely relaxed due to the open bar, and people were acting like my button earrings were on par with the invention of the Magic Bullet. A jeweler asked me about them, and I felt a little sheepish saying I had just superglued buttons to posts. (not even my original idea, by the way). I also explained what gauged ears were to an inquiring pair of elderly English twins. I found out that most high class older women in Portland wear a version of a polar fleece vest, but made of high class fibers like raw silk or quilted gold leaf. It was also an interesting observation on how the economy has affected this wealthiest class, hearing side comments about how the units wouldn't sell in this market, and real estate agents being grateful they still have jobs. One of the realtors working that night looked and sounded exactly like Sarah Palin. Which was funny until she put her arm around me and I felt extremely uncomfortable.