My Personal Elevator Everest
The other day, I crammed myself into an already packed elevator, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the six other humans inhabiting this metal box. It was then I realized: elevator etiquette is a minefield.
We’ve all been there, awkwardly shuffling in the confined space of an elevator, praying we don’t accidentally breathe on anyone. It’s a microcosm of society, where unspoken rules reign supreme and breaking them can result in silent judgment (or worse, awkward small talk).
One time, I witnessed a brave soul politely ask a Button Pusher if they could also press the button for the next floor. The response? A curt nod and a muttered, “It’s right next to the one I already pressed.” The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a plastic butter knife.
The Close Talker: Master of Personal Space Invasion
Elevators are small. We get it. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to turn into a Close Talker. You know the type: they stand so close you can practically feel their breakfast breath on your cheek.
I once shared an elevator ride with a particularly enthusiastic Close Talker who decided to recount their entire morning commute in excruciating detail. By the time we reached the lobby, I knew the color of their barista’s socks and the unfortunate state of the traffic on the freeway. All I could do was smile politely and pray for a swift escape.