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After breakfast, I came back upstairs to work on Games of our Lives.
I got into the elevator, and held the door open for about a half-dozen people. When they were all in, I was closest to the buttons.
"Where y'all going?" I said. Normally, I don't say "y'all," (and in this case, the proper conjugation would have been "all y'alls,") but I've got The Nerves, and sometimes that makes me say weird things.
They all said the same number, which happens to be the same floor as me.
"Oh, I hear all the cool kids are staying on that floor," I said. (Longtime WWdN readers will understand why I didn't say, "It's the floor that's sweeping the nation.")
"Yeah, I hear it's the floor where all the winners are staying," this businessman with an NAB badge around his neck said.
"You mean it's where the losers are staying!" This forty-something woman said. In one hand she held one of those plastic footballs, presumably filled with something scandalous like Sex on the Beach.
"Hey! Speak for yourself, lady!" I said with a laugh. I'm normally not this chatty in elevators.
She looked at me, and her eyes focused (eventually) on my WPT badge.
"Oh!" She said, "You're in the poker tournament?"
"Yeah," I said.
"How are you doing?"
"Well, I'm still alive," I said. Somehow, it sounded cooler than, "I start tomorrow, and I'm scared out of my fucking shit right now," while still technically true.
She extended her left hand toward me. Liver spots, huge gold bracelet, 790 carat diamond ring on her middle finger. No wedding ring. Loud, pinkish-orange polish on otherwise tasteful acrylic nails.
"Give me some of your luck, kid!" She said. I tried, but failed to identify an accent.
Okay, how much do I love that this woman just called me "kid?"
"No way," I said. "I don't want to get any of your 'loser luck' on me."
The whole elevator laughed, including The Football Lady.
"I tell you what," I said, as we arrived at our floor, and the doors opened, "If I'm still in the tournament on Sunday, you can touch me then."
"It's a deal!" She said.
I walked out of the elevators and turned to the right. They went to the left. As the distance between us grew, I heard her friend say, "He's right, Melissa. Keep your loser luck to yourself."
Their laughter echoed down the hall as I put the key into my door.