This is how I get down: The stairs. Up, too.

Shortly after I started working for the financial company I now work for, way, way back, like, a year and a half ago, the people running the company orientation session I went to were promoting an idea of an “elevator speech.”

For roughly the first half of the session — give an hour or so while the other noobs and I were busy assembling jigsaw puzzles — their casual references of this elevator speech concept did more to confuse me than anything.

My first thought was, “I don’t know anything about the inner workings of elevators — except for my relatively limited knowledge of pneumatic vacuum systems, of course, but what does any of that have to do with the world of finance and banking?”

And then my thoughts went all like, “Wait. Do I have to give a speech in an elevator? Will everyone stay on for all floors during my speech? Or will I have to deal with people constantly getting on and off while I’m orating? Because that could get distracting.”

But then as the orientation instructors went on about this elevator speech idea, they started mentioning stuff about how we would all need to be able to describe our jobs to strangers.

I’m not quite sure why they wanted us to tell strangers about our jobs. I don’t know about you, but I grew up being told not to talk to strangers.

Then I asked myself what telling strangers stuff about my job had to do with elevators, because I really wanted to know. It still didn’t make sense to me.

All I could think about was how I don’t usually take elevators if I have the option to take the stairs. Well, unless I have to go up like 30 stories or something, because then, even as a stairwell regular, I’d probably get all sweaty and out of breath and stuff, and that’s not fun for anyone.

I understand that there are some legitimate needs for elevators. I also understand that they can simply make things easier even if you don’t truly need to use them, and I further understand that’s probably why most people use them. However, sometimes I just prefer to do my own thing, so it’s the stairs for me.

You may not like the stairs yourself, but if you were ever to consider taking them, I promise there are, like, millions of reasons to do so. Okay, “millions” might be a stretch. But I did come up with four:

• Hip hop calves. Even if you’re not walking up a ton of flights of stairs, walking up one is better exercise than none. I don’t have a degree in kinesiology or pulmonology or anything, but I’d say it probably builds leg strength and endurance. And if you’re awesome, you can skip every other stair for a more intense workout.
• 28 Floors Later. You know how many germs circulate within elevators? Yeah, neither do I. But I just have to assume those boxes are veritable Petri dishes during cold and flu season. Well, maybe not, but that just seems like a reasonable guess to me. At the very least, I’m sure the buttons are all germy or something.
• Peace and quiet. Who really wants to talk to people? Especially in the morning? And that’s when you deal with most people on an elevator. Everyone comes in to work all tired and then you’re faced with the decision of either standing around awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact so as not to have to speak with anyone, or giving in to the feeling of obligation to make small talk about what you bought at the grocery store last night or how your mailman keeps delivering your mail to your next door neighbor.
• I don’t mean to brag. If the company you work for is like mine, then you have a yearly fire drill, which may include turning off the elevators to force a more realistic exit. But if your company's like mine, then you know they also take forever to turn the elevators back on. So, the more accustomed to walking up stairs you are, the less winded you’ll be at the end of the drill when you walk back into the building and up the stairs. Then you can be the person walking around telling everyone who’s breathing heavily, “Oh, y’know, I take the stairs ALL THE TIME. Because I’m awesome. So, yeah, that’s why I’m not all, like, tired and out of breath like everyone else and stuff.”

I have to admit that I’m not completely opposed to taking elevators, and I do happen to do so on occasion. However, if and when I do, no one should expect me to deliver any speeches while I’m on one.

However, all bets on public speaking are off if they ever build some escalators at my job.

Man vs. (Vending) Machine

On days when I don’t fuel my morning with a standard breakfast of Wheaties and razorblades prior to arriving at work (keeps the teeth sharp and digestive system strong, of course), I turn to the office vending machines to punch my hunger in the face and tide me over until lunch time.

My choice?

Well, despite what I can only describe as a pretty intense Skittles addiction that has me on my knees in front of the vending machines crying tears of joy and sorrow several times per week, I’ve been curing my breakfast cravings with M&Ms: the OTHER breakfast of champions.

If there are no M&Ms, I turn to Peanut M&Ms: the OTHER OTHER breakfast of champions. If no Peanut M&Ms, well, then I usually just lash out incoherently at my department cohorts until they start ignoring me. That usually happens anyway, so I guess those days are really like any other day.

However, sometimes when I rely on the vending machines to fill the lack-of-breakfast hole in my life, or when I just happen to be feening for a Skittles fix—even when the machines are stocked with the sugar pellets I seek for sustenance—I end up empty-handed and sour-faced as I stomp my feet in a huff all the way back to my cube.

When that happens, it’s because the vending machines won the battle. And the vending machines are sore winners.

It means that I’ve put money in one of the machines, I’ve pressed the buttons for my selection, but then the vending machine gets all like, “Y’know what? I decided you’re not getting anything today. Instead, I’ll act like I’ll give you your snack, but then I’ll pull it back and prevent it from dropping to the bottom! Just look at how it’s hanging there! Oh, so close! Poor baby want some M&Ms??? Boo-hoo! By the way, thanks for the money! Sucker! BWAAHAHAAA!!!”

And then on top of that, I have to live with the thought of someone else showing up to get the snack I was going after and getting two for the price of one! I can't tell you how many times I've tried—unsuccessfully—buying the snack again to try get my original selection, plus an additional one.

To avoid the additional agony of failing at that, I've even tried to outsmart the vending machine by buying the item above my failed purchase, hoping to jar it loose during its descent behind the glass, while maintaining my dignity by convincing myself that I wanted a variety of snacks.

It's those moments I think I can actually hear the vending machine laugh at me.

All in all, my career stats vs. the vending machine are actually pretty good. Even though I’m well over .500, in the instances I do come away with the snack I’m purchasing, I feel a certain type of euphoria I'm pretty sure is reserved for winning the lottery, climbing to the top of a mountain, or beating Contra without using the code to get 30 extra lives.

I do the Tiger Woods’ fist pump, I jump around the kitchen chest bumping anyone there, and I yell about how awesome it feels to be the greatest of all-time. I’ve even started ordering trophies adorned with little replica bags of candy and inscriptions noting the date, the type of candy, and an additional affirmation, like “Live life to the fullest because it’s like a box of chocolates that builds character and hands you lemonade!”

It’s that victorious joy in which I delight. It keeps me hungry in pursuit of my prize when I suffer an ill-gotten defeat at the hands of the vending machines. Well, simply not receiving any food from the machines keeps me hungry, too.

Maybe I should just, like, go to the store and buy some snacks to keep at my desk.