Awkward

The carpet was so plush that I had the overwhelming desire to take off my boots and wriggle my toes in it. Even the air in a high rise luxury building just smelled better - or maybe that was the eucalyptus. As we walked down the hallway brass placards marked each room. Perfectly manicured plants sat in the corners like obedient dogs.

The elevator dinged and we stepped inside. The mirrored walls gleamed with an absence of smeared fingerprints. I stared at my reflection. What a contrast. People who live in luxury apartments have hair that "cascades" down their back.  My hair had escaped the clip and, plastered with sweat, was hanging down in droopy tendrils. It wasn't flattering. 

The elevator dinged again and we stopped. The door slid open to reveal two elderly women. Even at this hour, their creases were pressed, their make-up was flawless. Aristocratic eyes swept across us.  I tossed a stray strand of hair out of my eye and stared back at them in silence.  This was awkward.

Upper class eyebrows crawled up their foreheads but no one said a word as the elevator door closed again. The medical examiner and I turned to each other and shared a blue collar smile. The three of us continued our journey. When the elevator dinged again. We had reached our destination, and as the door opened, we rolled our body into the hallway. The plush carpet crushed under my boot and the smell of eucalyptus faded as we rolled away.