Oh, good morning Mr. Tyler……

I am equal parts captivated and confused by the thought process of other people. It’s the week to week real life interactions that make me question “What the fuck are these people thinking”. At a recent conference, I encounter another example of dubious social norms that further confirmed reality is better than fiction.

Late one evening I joined an unfamiliar group of conference attendees at the 2^nd floor elevator bay, each of us awaiting our final carriage of the evening. Maybe it was the long day of back to back industry sessions, marginal food served in rows of chaffing dishes or too many draft beers at the mixer that made the wait seem extensive. As the small UP arrow activated and sounded a small audible “ding” the doors opened to reveal an half dressed couple who had found a way to send a bland day out with a bang. This was a first for me. Since there isn’t an iPhone app that provides the proper social response when you encounter a middle aged woman giving head in an elevator, so I had to play this by instinct.

As the breath was sucked out of the group, some turned away as the rest of us tried to process what was transpiring. As the couple glanced back at us with a mixture annoyance and impatience, an invisible 10 second clock started the count down for these doors to be closed. My mind started to race through the options available with the current situation and my desire to make it to the 14^th floor.

-          Does this couple have some expectation to privacy that trumps our need for publicly available transportation?

-          Is there some kind of man code that takes precedence in these situations?

-          Who, if anyone, bares the burden of embarrassment in this situation?

-          Who should try to make the other party feel at ease?

-          Was it overwhelming passion that dictated this current location or was this space selected because they are ok with public blow jobs? There seems to be room on the other side.

-          Do you think she would reconsider this hook up with the knowledge that he’s wearing knee high socks, now plainly visible with his pants around his ankles?

As the questions and seconds ticked through my head and without additional debate, my desire to make it to my room propelled me into the other side of the elevator. As I turned around to face the front of the elevator, per social dictum, I saw the shocked look on the 5 faces staring at me. It’s not as if I dropped my pants and got in line to be serviced next or smacked the guy on the ass with a kink to say “Nice work partner”.  I want to go to my room. I patiently waited for the elevator that these two chose for foreplay, so let’s all continue with our evenings.  

The ride up 12 floors was nothing to write to Penthouse Forum about. I tried to keep my eyes on the ascending numbers and no small talk took place. I did sense a degree of tension in the elevator, but isn’t there always a little awkwardness when 66% or a group have exposed genitals?  I’m not sure what the right thing to say would be and honestly my mind went blank as my inner wise-ass just soaked up the moment. As I made it back to my room and started to brush my teeth I kicked myself for not delivering a comment like “$10 for whoever gets off first”.

Who says passion in America is dead?