Kicking Puppies and Taking Names: Why We Misbehave in Elevators

I love everything written in this article, from the brainy and humorous content to the unique and enticing writing style; even if it brings some people to thesaurus – hey, isn’t that great to know something new, even if just a word? It may open new horizons…reblogging Erin J. Bernard!

If I could ride in an elevator with anyone, either living or dead, I would most definitely pick Sigmund Freud.

Not because a 30-seconds-long vertical journey would be time enough to permit any kind of meaningful psychological exchange between the Good Herr Doktor and I – it’d be time enough to summon a pithy, off-cuff interpretation of last night’s bad dream, perhaps, or if he had his pocket watch on hand, to flirt with the stirrings of hypnotic stupor, but then it’d be time’s up.

And not because I have Daddy issues (Hi, Dad!), or because I enjoy ingesting the stink of stale cigar smoke within an enclosed space (which is always how I imagined Freud to smell, based on what he looks like in photographs).

Courtesy Photo Courtesy Photo

Nay. I pick Freud because, if the events of the past two weeks are any indication, elevator shafts are unpredictable kinds of places…

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Sharing sights & insights captured with diverse angles. Ex-corporate, now my own boss. Cycling, hiking, cooking, reading, yoga, writing and photography, are no longer only hobbies listed on my resume. It's what I do when I want.

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