If not, fire up the Wayback Machine and read this old Time article.

Stories about her pettiness are legion: the time in Boston she telephoned the management of the Boston Symphony Orchestra to complain that the Ritz-Carlton’s room service had put peas in her pasta; the time when, feeling chilly while riding in a limo in Southern California, she used the cellular phone to call her management company in New York, which phoned the limo service, which phoned the driver, who turned the air conditioning down; the time in New York when she and Luciano Pavarotti competed to see which could arrive later for a dress rehearsal. Battle has a penchant for changing hotel suites in the middle of a stay just to vary the color of her surroundings. After her appearances at the San Francisco Opera this season, the backstage crew sported T shirts that read: I SURVIVED THE BATTLE.

Life After Death by PowerPoint

Add to My Profile | More Videos

He’s an odd dude – he has a sort of gait that you might use if you wanted to hurry it up in your last few yards to a waiting bus, but didn’t need to actually run. It’s this kind of harried shuffle, leaning forward, mostly on the balls of his feet. He moves that way the entire trip home though, through the station, up the escalator, and on down the street, and always with a little duffel bag held stiffly out to one side. His shuffling makes such a distinctive sound that if I don’t have headphones in I can always tell when he’s coming up behind me.

He also eschews sidewalks, preferring to shuffle in the street five feet to the right of the sidewalk regardless of whether the sidewalk is occupied (it usually isn’t) or the street has car traffic (it usually does).

The location where I encountered them carrying out this little custom?

Getting out of the elevator. Not, in the elevator, or even, waiting for the elevator, either of which would have been completely innocuous – getting out of the elevator. The doors opened, myself and about six other tired people needed them to come out of there so we could get in and go home, and there they were, oohing and ahhing and – I don’t know quite how to describe this motion – slowly sashaying out of the elevator. Picture a girl sashaying, and then make it about half the speed that you just imagined. One of them was doing the bit where she takes the hand of the one with the best reason to sashay to stare at the ring closely, and literally she was performing this examination on the elevator threshold. And so this pretty tableau eased their way out as casually as if they were the Queen of England coming down a red-carpeted stair, except that I’ve found the English have the good grace to be terribly embarassed if they find themselves in someone else’s way for no good reason, so not even.

Goddammit, we’re all so proud of you, now MOVE.

This one is on a timer or a motion detector and is located on the wall just above and alongside the toilet. I was not aware that they made them with timers or motion detectors. I suppose I don’t need to say it at this point, but it went off as I was standing up, effectively deodorizing the left side of my head.

Because what we really need in life are more WTF???!!! moments while our pants are down.

I hear this buzzphrase in my office at least once a week. It was charming the first time. At the 300th time, it’s a bit of a cliche. Please stop.