My Personal Elevator Everest
We’ve all been there. That metal box of awkward silence, forced proximity, and enough unspoken rules to rival a secret society. Yes, I’m talking about the elevator. My personal Everest wasn’t scaling a mountain, it was conquering the crippling fear of breaking every single unwritten rule of elevator etiquette.
It all started with an innocent enough trip to the 10th floor. As the elevator doors slid open, I realized I was facing a wall of backs. Everyone was staring straight ahead, a symphony of tense silence. I, my friends, made the fatal mistake of making eye contact. The poor woman’s eyebrows shot up so fast, I swear they disappeared into her perfectly coiffed hair. That’s when it hit me: I had stumbled into the sacred space of unspoken elevator rules.
Apparently, elevators are the library equivalent of public transportation. Silence reigns supreme. Want to ask your friend about their day? Think again, buddy. This is a place for quiet contemplation of your shoes, the back of someone else’s head, or the thrilling emergency evacuation procedures diagram.
Me? I like to treat elevators like the moving party they could be. I compliment people’s shoes, ask how their day is going (in a normal, human voice, mind you!), and even (gasp!) tell a joke or two. The shocked expressions I get are priceless. Look, I’m just trying to inject a little joy into this metal box of doom, people!
Button Master General: The Great Elevator Button Debate
Ah, the age-old question: To hold the door or not to hold the door? Elevator etiquette dictates that the person closest to the buttons is automatically promoted to Button Master General. They are bestowed the responsibility of ensuring no soul is left stranded on the wrong floor.
But here’s the thing: I’m naturally helpful to a fault. I see someone running full-speed towards the elevator, and my finger instinctively slams that “door open” button like I’m playing a high-stakes game of Whack-a-Mole. The horrified gasps from inside the elevator are always the same, followed by a chorus of mumbled “thank yous” as the out-of-breath passenger stumbles in. Hey, at least I’m consistent?