I know too much. I'm probably a dead man.

So I get in the elevator to ride up to the fifth floor and a large woman I have never seen before gets on with me.

To me, the extent of conversation in an elevator with a person you don't know should be, at most, "What floor?" followed by a response consisting of a monosyllabic word, preferably a number, and then a button push on my part.

But no.

The split-second the doors close, she starts talking.

Here is the conversation, as it happened:

Me: "4th?"

Her: "Yes. please. Oh my God, I hope I can function today. I only got one hour's sleep last night. My daughter called as soon as I went to bed, and I ended up at the hospital because she was having contractions. I told her they were just going to send her home but no, she had to go anyway. They kept her there almost the entire night."

She pauses, then leans toward me a little bit, and gives me the conspiratorial whisper "She was scared, because last week she had some spotting."

Luckily, the elevator responded to my silent prayer of "ohjesuspleasegofasterpleasegofastergofaster" and the doors opened on the 4th floor and she got out.

I'm still dazed.