Coffee connection

There's a rather nasty elevator in the building that houses the International Studies Center; its doors start closing the moment you push the button, and the only way to stop them is to push the button of the floor you're on. On Thursday--during my daily trip to the ISC to find out whether the courses I want to take are offered after all--I once again made the mistake of pushing the ground floor button on my way into the elevator, effectively shutting the doors on the two people behind me. I spun around to correct my error, crashing into the woman directly behind me who, unfortunately, was carrying a cup of coffee. The coffee went everywhere from the woman's dress, to the floor of the elevator and all of my clothes (that cup must have been bottomless). In a state of shock I realized that my limited Hungarian vocabulary included no words for "I'm extremely sorry!" "Boscanat!"--what I usually say to people when I accidentally bump into them on the bus-- didn't seem quite appropriate, so for a while I stared at the woman silently trying to decide which language to use, before finally settling on English. The woman rewarded me with a prolonged Eastern-European-woman-in-her-fifties look of death and marched back out of the elevator. The young guy behind her rode down to the ground floor with me, eyeing the puddle of coffee with disdain and disgust. And I had to make my way across town covered in coffee from head to toe.