Jericho: I love people.

The elevators in the building where I work are, in a word, insane. They are slow, infrequent and sometimes they flat out lie. You can get on a down elevator that goes down two floors and then it decides it's an up elevator!

So, this morning I'm in the elevator lobby waiting with the other elevator commuters for the express car to the 40th floor. One of the lights goes off, indicating a pending arrival. People shuffle to get in front of it. Not two seconds later, a light goes off on the car next to it. I move over to that one, figuring it might be a little less crowded.

I was right. Before my car arrived, I got to watch fifteen people pack themselves into that first car. I got onto the second car by myself.

Not that I'm complaining. I didn't have to fight through four different brands of perfume, the smell of the last cigarette of the morning or anyone's coffee breath. It was a nice way to begin the morning. It just shocks me how much people don't pay attention, how sheeplike they really are. In groups, we are just herd animals. We just want to get our coffee, get to our desks and survive the first hour of the morning. We've already been ripped from our beds, attacked ourselves with razors, chemicals and electric coil machines for "beauty" and "hygiene", dressed in demeaning costumes, and risked our lives in traffic - what's a packed elevator in comparison?

In the movie, Con Air, Steve Buscemi's character compared office work to insanity:

"What if I told you insane was working fifty hours a week in some office for fifty years at the end of which they tell you to piss off. Ending up in some retirement village, hoping to die before suffering the indignity of trying to make it to the toilet on time. Wouldn't you consider that to be insane?"

The absolute rightness of that statement is scary.