Overheard in an elevator

It was 5pm on Friday. Two colleagues and I were in the elevator when it stopped on the third floor to pick up some Polished Pretties*.

PP1 reaches into her purse of brushed orange and black fur and extracts an impossibly small silver phone. Her pearly pink mouth pouts as she stares inconsolable at the phone, obviously wondering why it isn't ringing. Or telling her how very pretty she is, at the very least.

PP1: "I was supposed to go to Buddha Bar tonight but I'm just not feeling it, you know."

PP2 (staring at her equally tiny pink phone, equally heartbroken): Yeah, I totally know."

Silence. Much staring at cell phones. The elevator reaches the ground floor.

PP1: Don't forget - we still have to go check out that gym.

PP2: Yeah. Maybe Monday.

The doors slide open.

PP1: Cool.

PP2: Cool.

So why did I label this "why the world is coming to an end"? It frustrates me that so many of today's women are nothing but walking clouds of perfume unable to do little more than stare blankly at their cell phones while they ignore the friends standing in front of them.

Am I the only one who would rather interact with real people than punch buttons on a shiny piece of plastic?

I get the irony - complaining about how cold human relationships have become in a blog - but this is just a small slice of my day. If someone is standing right in front of me, I want to talk, to laugh with that person.

I know. I'm just a dinosaur.

*What I call the overly-coiffed, sticky make-upped dolls that work on the third floor. Apparently, cuteness counts when they hire on the third floor.