In an empty elevator this morning, I used the mirror to squeeze a zit.
It was a luxurious experience. The mirror was huge, wall-to-wall. The lighting was bright and even. What better opportunity for an act of minor surgery?
Just as I was getting to grips with it, a tiny voice said “hold the lift,” but it sounded distant and surely not for me (this was a bank of six elevators).
A woman slithered in sideways through the closing doors. “Oh sorry,” I said, “Did you just ask me to hold the lift?”
“Yes, but that’s alright.”
“I was just using the mirror to squeeze a zit,” I said.
“Ah.”
“So I wasn’t being an arsehole,” I said, “Just disgusting.”
Glad we got that cleared up.