"I Like Your Shoes"...

When coming home from work yesterday, it seemed like any other day. The subway was slow and people were crammed in, walking down Maiden Lane wasn't any different, and before coming up to the apartment I stopped to get the mail. All normal, everyday events. Then I got on the elevator...

So there I was on the elevator, holding the mail and my keys, and listening to my iPod. Then the guy to my left says something to me. Now, before I tell you our conversation, let me first describe what he looked like. He was probably around 5'7"-5'8" (I'm terrible at guesstimating heights), olive skin, dark hair, wearing button up shirt, nice slacks, etc but his shirt wasn't all the way buttoned up so you could see a little bit of chest (not disgusting but not attractive either, at least to me). I believe he was Middle Eastern in decent or something, but not totally sure. Basically, let's just say not bad looking but definitely not my type.

Anyway, he turns to me and says that he likes my shoes. I was wearing my "British" shoes (pictured at right), as I like to call them, which I am very fond of and replied with a thank you. He then remarked that they look really good on me. I replied with a, "well, thank you." He then proceeded to ask my name and I told him my first name and he told me his. Now at this point I obviously knew something was going on, but still not totally sure if he was just being overly friendly or something else. Also at that point I turned off my music so that I could hear what he was saying and so as not to be rude with my headphones on.

After asking my name he asked if I worked downtown. I said that I worked in midtown and he said that he worked two blocks from the building. I said "that's an easy commute," and then he said something along the lines of, "it would be an easier commute if you worked downtown," or something like that as I didn't complete understand what he had said.

He then started asking apartment information..."what floor do you live on?" and "what apartment number?" Knowing that it was going to be obvious what floor I live on as being on the first floor selected to get off, I said that I lived on the 32nd floor. Finally we reached my floor and as I was getting off he told me to hurry up and tell him what apartment number before the doors closed.

"Maybe next time," I replied with a smile and then the doors closed.

And that was me getting hit on in the elevator of my apartment building. Weird.