(Karen gets on the elevator, already occupied by a very tall, very lean man. He leers at her, ostensibly looking her up and down. Her discomfort and "C'mon 24th floor!" thought-bubble are nearly palpable.)
(locking in with intense eye contact)
Sooo. You're on an insulin pump.
(confused, but grateful for familiar territory)
Yes. Yes, I'm on an insulin pump.
(still staring, still unnerving)
I'm diabetic, too.
I don't have a pump.
(wondering if he's interested in the pump or judging)
Uh. Yeah? And are...you're on shots?
Yessss. The poor man's pump.
(feeling incredibly guilty, like she was showing off)
Oh. Um. Well, I just started last September? I was on shots for years before that.
(exiting the now-open doors)
Well, if you ever need any juice, I'm on 20.