Tonight I stepped on the elevator with a middle aged balding gentleman who was actively working on his cell phone. I pushed 32. He pushed 25. The elevator door closed, and he went back to his phone swiping left. Swiping right. Swiping right again. He was so dramatic in his swiping that it was almost like he was conducting an imaginary symphonic orchestra. My curiosity got the best of me and I stole a glance of his cell phone trying to understand what all the swiping was about. It was Tinder. I watched for a few seconds. The screen was filled with voluptuous women much younger than both of us. Blonds went right. Brunettes went left. The elevator stopped on 25 and the balding middle aged guy got off the elevator never missing a swipe. Right. Right. Right Left Right. The elevator door closed, and I rode the rest of the way up to 32 wondering what all those rejected brunettes would be doing tonight? Maybe dying their hair blond knowing what a catch lived on the 25th floor in my building.
