Yesterday it was a fam-jam helping Brodder move. Mid-move, we returned from packing things into the van, only to find that someone had stolen our service elevator. Not only had they stolen our elevator (understand that you have to get in, push the floor button, and then HOLD the close-door button until you begin your ascent), they had stolen it just so they could go to the second floor. Seriously.
Brodder ended up having to zip up the stairs to the second floor in order to bring it back down. Not a HUGE ordeal, but inconvenient enough--not to mention completely inconsiderate on the thief's part--to warrant mild-mannered dad to comment on it.
"I bet it was the same guy that just smoked that doobie outside."
Brodder and I shook our heads; I bet he learned that word from mom.
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