Sometimes when I'm in a crowded elevator at work that's travelling on the local track (hitting every freakin floor between 19 and the basement cafeteria), I like to make up fun games to pass the time. I carefully regard each person around me and pick one person I would have sex with if I had to. The stout little maintenance man with the wart on his nose? Or the lanky, pasty-faced banker with the strange pattern balding (hair in front, hair on sides, no hair on top)and incessant throat-clearing? If I'm lucky, the hot little Jamaican guy with the butter-smooth accent will climb aboard and make it game, set, match. Other days, it's just a little tougher. That's ok, I'm always up for a challenge.