My Personal Elevator Everest (And Why I’m Over It)
We’ve all been there. Crammed into a metal box hurtling through the floors of a building, desperately avoiding eye contact with strangers. It’s the elevator, that social pressure cooker disguised as a mode of vertical transportation. And you know what? I’m over it. I’m over the unspoken rules, the awkward silences, the forced smiles that scream, “Please don’t talk to me, I’m wearing invisible headphones!”
My personal elevator Everest happened last week. Picture this: Me, a half-eaten bagel in hand (don’t judge, I was late), and a man in a full-on three-piece suit. We were alone. The silence was deafening. My inner monologue went something like this: “Do I acknowledge him? A nod? A smile? But what if he thinks I’m hitting on him? Maybe I should just stare intently at the floor numbers.”
You guessed it. I stared at the floor numbers like they held the secrets to the universe.
Breaking the #1 Unspoken Rule: The “No Talking” Policy
This brings me to my first point: the dreaded “no talking” rule. Who decided that elevators should be zones of enforced silence? Why can’t we acknowledge our fellow passengers with a simple “good morning” or “how’s it going?”
I’ll tell you why. Because we’re all terrified of breaking the unspoken code, of being “that person” who dares to shatter the fragile peace of the elevator.
Well, I’m here to tell you, I am “that person.” I will strike up a conversation about the weather, the traffic, or even the fascinating patterns on the elevator floor (desperate times call for desperate measures). And you know what? Most of the time, people are relieved. Because deep down, we all crave a little human connection, even if it’s just for the duration of a 30-second ride.