I remember an encounter that I had on a hotel elevator some years ago as a young man.  I say "young man" because the only other rider was an old one.  He was very tall heavy set in the abdomen and bald on his head though wispy white tufts around his ears were clear vestiges of an extinct topknot.   I had already removed my possessions from the room to my car, save a martini kit, packed in a box that bore a visual representation of its contents: four martini glasses, a shaker, a strainer, etc....  The top of the box was left open as the toothpick holder and the jar of olives could not be accommodated therein.

As I stood there, ready to board, the metallic doors opened and I saw him standing with his back in the corner and a portfolio under his arm; he appeared to be a businessman.  I stepped in, turned to face the doors as well, and observed that the man had already pressed the ground floor button.  So I waited, holding the martini kit all the while.  After a few seconds, a conversation ensued.

"Wow, I remember those days.  I used to really like martinis," he said as his eyes became locked onto the box as if some invisible tractor beam had taken hold of them.
"Yeah," I said with disinterest.  "I enjoy them."
"My wife used to make good martinis.  I haven't drank one in, oh... nine months."
"Yeah, well, I like 'em"
"She used to make them with vodka," he continued, his eyeballs still transfixed.
"I like mine with one part gin and two parts vodka."  I had decided to oblige the man with conversation.
"You mean you mix gin AND vodka?"  Asking this, he extended his index and middle finger in the air parallel to the floor to make a "V" shape and rotated his wrist rapidly to indicate a mixing motion.  His glare broke off as he looked at me with a puzzled face.
"Yeah, it's pretty good,"  I responded.
"Hmm...."  He looked straight ahead, and I could tell that he was contemplating new horizons as wonderful opportunities opened to him.  He stood, silently surveying exciting vistas of adult beverage delight as he licked his lips.

Finally arriving at the termination point of our voyage, so too our conversation. "Well," I said, "you ought to try that combination sometime."  "Oh, I hope not," he said emphatically.  "It's been nine months."  There was an element of anxiety in his voice.  The doors opened, I broke to the right and he to the left.  I never saw him again but as I walked away, I could hear him from over my shoulder clear his throat nervously.  It wasn't until later that I realized that I had unknowingly left him like a good martini--well shaken.