The end of the year is always a mad rush to wrap campaigns and spend out remanning budgets which has left me little time to write lately, and for that I apologize. I am grateful for the opportunity to work with so many people that I can call friends as much as clients. It is a necessity in this career to enjoy working with those around you, not just for professionalism, but for sanity.

I spent last week in Denver with a group of people that made me feel as though I was on vacation. We laughed more than worked and somehow got the shots we needed without ever feeling like it was a job. It was a shoot that really made me appreciate the opportunities that this field has, whether that be experiences or conversations. Today’s short but hopefully enjoyable blog came from something that happened to me on the final morning in Denver…

(a quick warning… if by some chance you have read these blogs and view me as “cool,” today’s blog is not for you. It is an accurate portrayal of how socially awkward I can be, especially when I am wiped out from being on the road.)

So there I was, disheveled and running on autopilot. I had just gotten my order from the Starbucks in the hotel lobby where I was staying. Sadly, it wasn’t even that early, I was just mentally and physically wiped out from a photoshoot. Nonetheless, ham sandwich and chai latte in hand I was heading back to my room to eat and get ready for what the final day at the studio had to offer.

A quick aside to the guys reading this blog… by nature, we want to look cool when in front of the opposite sex. Whether it is dressed to the nines or casual but witty, I promise you that I represented neither of these options. My hair showed the world that I had slept well on one side of my head and the clothes I wore represented amongst the finest collection that I could find on the floor with my eyes barely open.

I pressed the up arrow on the elevator bank in the lobby and in due time my elevator arrived. I got in and pushed 10 and prepared for a casual private elevator ride to my room.

As the doors closed, out of no where a girl gets on the elevator. She was mid twenties and had a southern accent, and attractive. All I could think was, “shit, she probably thinks I’m homeless, perhaps my 8am wit will make her think I’m cool.” (please understand, I love my wife, I just hate people seeing how much I can look like a Walking Dead extra in the morning).

And then things went from bad to freaking catastrophe….

I asked her what floor she was on, for I was standing next to the buttons. She said, “9 please”. Any other time, I would have just thought, she said 9, I’ll hit the 9 button. However, this morning, I was not so competent, whether it was that I misheard her or that I couldn’t see strait, I hit 6…… f#^@ing 6!

And then it got worse…

I didn’t realize my stupidity until she said, “no, 9.” … Now at this point any sane person would hit the number 9 and apologize for the inconvenience. Not me. No this idiot tried to play it off with the smooth move of, ok, I’ll use my elbow as I have my breakfast and drink occupying my hands. Calmly I leaned over and hit floor number 9 with my elbow, and then the horror, I had hit 8 as well.

True panic overcame me as I realized my mistake and the fact that this kind soft spoken girl was going to be delayed by not one, but two floors because of some asshole. My mind when into disaster mode, what do I say? what do I say? what do I say…….. and then I said the only thing that came to mind.

“I’m married.”

What in green hell does that mean!?!?!!? It was the essence of all my social awkwardness in three beautiful syllables. Still, to this day I can’t even figure out the train of thought that my mind followed to come up with that one.

I thought of just getting off the elevator at the sixth floor and ending the nightmare early, but I took it like a man and stayed on. I didn’t make eye contact with her, but when the door opened for 6, I had a brief chuckle at my stupidity.

I hope you all enjoyed a good laugh at my expense, for I am the idiot in the elevator.