Dear Diary:
I was waiting for the elevator on Central Park West, dreaming about the food in my fridge. It was a pleasant afternoon. The crisp air rejuvenated my senses. Then it all started.
The elevator door opened, and I slipped in. A voice rasped out, “Hold the door please.†Being a good neighbor, I pressed the “Door Open†button â€" a mistake I would soon regret.
The voice belonged to a grandma with a young grandson. They stepped in as the door slid shut.
We were confined in a small metal chamber. Grandma looked content with her grandson. The boy looked like the devil, with pointy little ears. I pressed the button for my floor and the light “18″ illuminated.
I inquired where Grandma wanted to go. As Grandma started to reply, the kid suddenly lunged for the buttons. He hit the button “5″ with such force that I could feel the elevator shake. Grandma beamed at me. “I taught him how to count†she said, obviously pleased.
And then he started counting. s he counted, he slammed each button: “2, 3 … 16!†he chanted in an earsplitting scream. Grandma chuckled and congratulated the little boy on his counting.
I was fuming. I glared at the little boy and begged him to stop.
Grandma snapped, “Don’t ruin his creativity.â€
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