Mean Girl

There is this girl in my building who I occasionally see in the mornings and we sometimes end up on the same elevator. I've seen her at least once a week for the last five years and she has never smiled, sneered or acknowledged my existence in any way. It isn't only me that she ignores. The only people I have ever seen her talk to are people who equal her in stylishness and arrogance.

If you're reading this from points north, it's probably strange to you that I would comment on this. However, here in the South, especially in Texas, we actually smile and talk to total strangers. So, someone you see several times a week, if only briefly, can be called your "elevator friend" or your "parking lot friend" or your "candy machine at break time friend" or your "smoke break friend." You might never know their name but you know their favorite candy bar or how their car got scratched or that they bring everyone in their office donuts on Friday.

One morning as I got on the elevator, "mean girl" also got on the elevator along with two "nice girls" and one "nice guy." When "mean girl" got off, one of the nice girls looked at the other nice girl and in a trembling voice tinged with old forgotten memories quietly said, "Oh my God. I knew that girl in school. She was mean." Bless her heart. She sounded like she was 13 years old again being shunned and ridiculed by the popular girls.

I looked at her and I said, "You know what? She's still mean." That made, nice girl smile.

Of course, "mean girl" might have problems that I know nothing about but, damn, for five years? And the problems dissipate when a handsome man or someone with a Gucci bag walks up? No. That chick is just mean.