Elevator confessions

The building in which my office is located probably has the slowest elevators in all of the state. They’re so slow that I actually would sometimes prefer to take the stairs to my 7th floor office (I’m saved from this awful fate by the fact that the fire exit stairwell doors are locked from the parking garage). Anyway, the long wait oftentimes allows me to eavesdrop on some interesting conversations. Like this morning. A large woman on a cellphone was having a conversation with her friend and it went something like this:

The judge said we gotta go to these stupid parenting classes for bad parents or he’ll violate us and we’ll both go back to county. Darius’s mom is watching DJ & Lawanda while we go and she’s like, “you better be makin’ some food before you go ‘cuz I ain’t cookin’ for them kids and I wanna eat too,” so I took a pot roast outta the fridge but the dog got ahold of it when I wasn’t lookin’.

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Naw, I wrestled it away from him but he already ate part of it.

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Hell no, that thing cost a lotta money!

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I don’t care if that mean ol’ woman gets sick eatin’ it, she deserves it. She should get sick & die!

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Oh yeah, I didn’t think about them kids.