How Do You Get to the Eighth Floor.

January 17, 2013
"Excuse me sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but, how do you get to the eighth floor?" He didn't hear me. "Hello? Sir?" Still didn't hear me. Maybe he was deaf? No...Why would he be working here if he was deaf? He wouldn't get much done as a janitor. He would need an interpreter. Everyone coming in contact with him daily would need to sign. Maybe he is just ignoring me? Well why would he ignore someone trying to ask a question? That's just rude. I'll try again. I reached to tap his shoulder, tap, tap, tap on his shoulder, but he doesn't feel it. How could he not feel someone else's touch? Is he still ignoring me? "Hello? Sir?" I ask again. Still no answer. Maybe he has headphones in and I didn't notice? That could be it, but that doesn't explain why he didn't answer when I tapped him.

I stroll through a sea of suits and briefcases along the lobby floor. Where else could I go? No one would tell me how to get to the 8th floor. Someone could have the decency to stop and tell me where to go. I mean they all work there, they should be able to tell a measly tourist how to get there...right?

I look around once more, the busy crowd of people starts to fizzle out and fade. Really, they were dissolving into thin air, one by one. The deaf janitor went first, then a few business men, then the receptionist and others passing by. Confusion took over my mind Where in the world did this come from? Why is it here? A bright, white light began to fill the now empty Empire State lobby. "Amelia, it's time to come home," a warm and welcoming voice said from the bright, white light. I didn't question who had just said that, and I didn't ask what was going on. I felt as if I knew exactly what was happening. I followed the bright, white light, but still never made it to the eighth floor.

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