The man who hated me.

One night after dinner in Montreal, my husband decided to run off to a cafe up the street from where we were to get us a treat for after dinner. I, being full of food and tired and uncomfortable as all heck, decided I would forgo the walk and went back to our hotel. I waddled my way into the lobby area, then to the elevators and hit the "up" button.

As I was waiting, I heard someone heading towards the elevator with what sounded like bags in tow. I hoped beyond hope that the elevator would come in time so I could hop on and be out of there before this person came around the corner, but no such luck.

I was standing in between both elevators since I didn't know which one was going to come. The man who came around the corner stepped in front of me (there wasn't much room between me and the elevators) and went to push the "up" button. I was beginning to feel invisible, but I let it go.

He acted surprised that the "up" button was already pushed (again, I wasn't there -- I was just some misty fog or something) and stood as closely to the right elevator as he could, which meant, he was crowding my space and in front of me.

Of course the right elevator was the one that arrived first, and he immediately got on. I had a choice, one that I was thinking about before the elevator even came: either I get on with him and be treated like I don't exist, or I stay and wait for the other elevator. I decided to wait. But he didn't know that, now did he? So what does he do as soon as he got in the elevator? He pushed the "close door" button, so even if I wanted to get on, I wouldn't of had an easy chance of doing so.

Yes, this made my pregnant blood going a' boilin', I tell you.

I stared at him as the doors closed, and then I reached over and and pushed the "up" button again. The doors immediately open, he looks shocked, and for the first time since we encountered each other, he gave me a slight glance like he was amazed that I actually was real, and then pushed the "close door" button again.

I'm a bit on the evil side, so I really wanted to push the "up" button again just to piss him off, but I was so mad at this point that he was biligerantly ignoring my existance, that I decided to let it go. I didn't even call him and arsehole (wasn't sure he'd understand me anyway, but I suppose some curse words are universal) because I was just too mad to do so.

Luckily that was the rudest thing that happened to me alone in Montreal. But interestingly, that was the only time I really was alone in Montreal.

Hmmm.