jux·ta·po·si·tion, /jəkstəpəˈziSH(ə)n/, noun: The fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect.
It’s in the 80s here in Cincinnati in the morning, and the humidity is hellish. I’ve been driving to the office and then running in the mornings and without a shirt on. I’ve been hoping that nobody is around when it is time to ride the elevator up to the fourth-floor locker room to shower, if anything to remove the awkwardness of it all.
A few days ago, that wasn’t the case. I finished my run (goal of 5.5 miles, went 5.65 miles) and slowed to a walk next to the office building. In front of me, I see an employee of another firm in the office building walking across the street. She was walking at a bad pace, slow enough that I didn’t want to walk behind her but fast enough that going around her to enter the building and go up the elevator would have been a little bit of a douche move.
So I ended up on the elevator with this lady. She is overweight (which is unfortunately not uncommon), but not an extreme fatass. However, I noticed that she was breathing very heavily. I was not.
The walk from the parking lot to the elevator is around 350 feet and includes 10 steps up two flights of stairs.
So here I am, breathing normally but in running clothes (well, shorts and shoes), across the elevator from a lady who is dressed in business casual breathing heavily. Juxtaposition.
This story is real. No names have been changed because there aren’t any.