Elevator Operator - Courtney Barnett

Oliver Paul, twenty years old

Thick head of hair, worries he’s going bald

Wakes up at quarter past nine

Fare-evades his way down the 96 tram line

Breakfast on the run again, he’s well aware

He’s dropping soy linseed Vegemite crumbs everywhere

Feeling sick at the sight of his computer

He dodges his way through the Swanston commuters

Rips off his tie, hands it to a homeless man

Sleeping in the corner of a Metro bus stand and he screams

«I'm not going to work today

Going to count the minutes that the trains run late

Sit on the grass, building pyramids out of Coke cans»

Headphone wielding to the Nicholas building

He trips on a pothole that’s not been filled in

He waits for an elevator, one, two, nine

A lady walks in and waits by his side

Her heels are high and her bag is snakeskin

Hair pulled so tight you can see her skeleton

Vickers perfume on her breath

A tortoise shell necklace between her breasts

She looks him up and down with a botox frown

He’s well used to that look by now

The elevator dings and they awkwardly step in

Their fingers touch on the rooftop button

Don’t jump, little boy, don’t jump off that roof

You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you’re still in your youth

I’d give anything to have skin like you

He said, «I think you’re projecting the way that you’re feeling

I’m not suicidal, just idling insignificantly

I come up here for perception and clarity

I like to imagine I’m playing SimCity

All the people look like ants from up here

And the wind’s the only traffic you can hear»

He said, «All I ever wanted to be

Was an elevator operator, can you help me please?»

Don’t jump, little boy, don’t jump off that roof

You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you’re still in your youth

I’d give anything to have skin like you

Don’t jump, little boy, don’t jump off that roof

You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you’re still in your youth

I’d give anything to have skin like you