Excuse me, I don't think this is my floor....

Not sure this is my floor. I mean sure, I'm here, I get that fact. It's just somehow I think, I know, I'm on the wrong floor. I'd ask the young lady in front of me for assistance but she seems so preoccupied. No one is really talking to each other on this floor. On my floor everyone talked and actually had engaging conversations. No one seems to notice anyone on this floor, how silly they all are. They all collectively seem to be gazing into their mini portable thingamabobs, how bizarre. Really, is that how the converse on this floor? Oh, that's so silly. Miss, could you please hit the perspective number for my floor? My floor absolutely has more to offer then this dreadful floor which clearly offers me no mental stimulation whatsoever. This is absurd, Miss, oh could you please hit that button and relieve me of this dreadful nightmare? I mean it's like they've all have become mindless nomadic creatures lured (quite easily I might add) by these shiny contraption they seem to all grip furiously in their hands. On my floor we actually look at one another when we speak, how rude they are on this floor. Oh goodness, does this lady even hear me with that foolish plastic tumor attached to her ear. Miss, miss, could you be a dear and press that button right there to return me back to my floor where manners and attentiveness still matter. What's that you say? No, no, no that's impossible. No one told me of any construction when I left my floor...