My Personal Elevator Everest
Let’s be honest, elevators are weird. We cram ourselves into these metal boxes with complete strangers, desperately avoiding eye contact and willing ourselves to disappear into the brushed steel walls. It’s like a social experiment gone wrong, a pressure cooker of awkwardness seasoned with the faint scent of hand sanitizer and desperation.
My own elevator anxieties reached their peak last week. Picture this: I’m running late for a meeting, sprinting towards the elevator like a caffeinated cheetah. As the doors slide open, I see a single occupant, standing perfectly still, facing the control panel. I stumble in, panting, and manage a breathless “Good morning!”
Silence. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. I might as well have serenaded a brick wall. It was at that moment I realized: I am the elevator etiquette rebel this world needs.
Rule #1: The Silence Rule
This rule seems to be carved into the very fabric of elevator existence. We’re conditioned to believe that any form of verbal communication, beyond essential floor requests, is a social faux pas of epic proportions. But why? Why are we content to exist in this silent vacuum of forced pleasantries?
My rebellion? I talk. I compliment shoes, I comment on the weather, I even (gasp!) tell jokes. The reactions vary from startled amusement to genuine connection. Sure, there are times when my attempts at conversation are met with blank stares and a hasty retreat to the furthest corner. But you know what? I’d rather risk a little awkwardness than perpetuate the soul-crushing silence.
