Elevator Friends

“Elevator?”

It was a running joke between me and my friend, Denise.

It all started on a day in the early 1990s. After graduating high school (or, better yet, escaping a forced social experiment), college wasn’t yet on the horizon. I was finally free. And moreover, being outside of the high school arena, peers were more accepting of my quirky personality and unique look. Instead of being the weird redhead that boys would not dare discover, it was a time that other humans wanted to find out what lurked beneath my freckled skin.

Since I didn’t do all the rebelling and exploring that many did in high school, the world was now my oyster. My shell had been pried open, but I had to make sure the world didn’t slurp me down raw. Hard to balance for a young person. And it was an on-and-off struggle for a while.

Needing to support myself, a job was necessary, so I bounced around from restaurant job to restaurant job. The work suited me. It was never boring, and it was a lifestyle. Work hard, make fast money, and then party with the other employees all night. Unfortunately, this led to some days where I just didn’t want to get out of bed and start a new day. Jobs came and jobs went.

Back then, we used the classified section of the newspaper to look for employment. And one “Help Wanted” ad in the Atlantic City Press caught my attention. A casino was hiring cocktail servers!

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one excited. I walked into a full casino theater of other hopeful cocktail servers. As we quieted down to hear the overview from the hiring staff, we were told about the position and shown the “uniform” we were expected to wear, complete with an intricate feathered hat, fishnet stockings, and high heels. Never being one for wearing flats or sneakers, it seemed super glamorous to me. I imagined myself dipping – not bending – to serve a handsome James Bond-type playing baccarat. The bubble soon burst as they proceeded to drone on about long hours, hierarchy, and the fact that it would take a long time to advance to a profitable location. So with little money to be had and a long afternoon waiting for the individual interview, I was out of there before the bathing suit auditions began.

That led me to the elevator and my friend, Denise.

“Did you just leave that mess too?”

“Yep.”

“So what’s next?”

“Boscov’s is hiring…”

By the time the elevator dinged to announce our arrival at the ground floor, we discovered that we lived a mile from each other – in fact, I sat behind her brother in school. We were soon close friends, spending most of the next year or two together. Both hired at Boscov’s Department Store, she worked in jewelry and I worked in shoes. But the best times happened after our shifts when we cruised the local pubs and nightclubs with “newly legal” driver’s licenses (well, at least mine was…). Sometimes, we’d jump around the dance floor of a club to House of Pain, but our favorite hang-out was a local bar with a pool table and juke box. We’d place our quarters on the pool table and wait our turn to transform from docile young women into fierce pool sharks – at least that’s how we felt at the time. My song was “Suck My Kiss” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. To this day, I remember a crush of mine that was playing pool most nights. As a tiger can’t change its stripes, even after growing some confidence, I never got the courage to talk to him. Just kept playing that song and looking cute. One time at Boscov’s, Denise ran over to my department with a mischievous smile. She said, “Look who’s here.” There was my crush and his grandmother walking into the shoe department. I peeked out from behind a tower of Easy Spirit and Adidas shoeboxes and could see he recognized me, but we both blushed and ignored each other.

Back to the elevator.

In many ways, Denise was my opposite. She attracted attention everyplace we went. At close to six feet tall with blond air and an extraverted personality, all eyes were on Denise. And instead of averting her gaze, as I always tended to do, she greeted their interest with a friendly smile. Of course, I wished I was more like Denise as she easily flirted and scored us free beers. But all the moths that were attracted to her flame were not appreciated. If someone came on too strong or just held no interest, one word was said.

“Elevator?”

“Yes!”

Then we’d escape into the safety of the night, blasting Depeche Mode songs from open car windows and erupting into giggles.

There are so many amazing memories of my youth entwined with my friend Denise – some that will never be revealed on paper – ha! Eventually, though, we both fell in love – she, only once! I was the maid of honor at her wedding before moving across the country to San Francisco with a boyfriend.

For a while in recent years, we lived in the same area. Happily married, she has two children and a successful art boutique called Karma and Coconuts. Although our lives went very different ways, I’d still like to think that we’ll always be “elevator” friends.