Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: social awkwardness

  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the One Time I Broke Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the One Time I Broke Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the One Time I Broke Them All)

    We’ve all been there. Packed in a metal box, hurtling upwards at an alarming speed, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with strangers. Yes, my friends, I’m talking about the wondrous social experiment that is the elevator.

    The Day the Elevator Music Died (and It Was My Fault)

    Now, I consider myself a fairly well-adjusted member of society. I hold doors open for people, I say please and thank you, and I even recycle (most of the time). But there’s something about elevators that turns me into a bumbling mess of social awkwardness.

    Take, for example, the time I single-handedly managed to break every unspoken rule of elevator etiquette. It all started innocently enough. I stepped into the elevator, joining a businessman furiously typing on his phone and a woman with a shopping bag that looked suspiciously like it contained a small dog (or maybe just a very fluffy loaf of bread, I wasn’t about to stare).

    I gave a polite nod – the universal elevator greeting – and turned to face the doors, just like the rulebook says. But then it happened. My stomach, in all its infinite wisdom, chose that precise moment to unleash a growl so loud and ferocious, it could have rivaled a bear waking up from hibernation.

    The Sound of Silence (and Intense Secondhand Embarrassment)

    The typing stopped. The shopping bag twitched. I swear I even heard the elevator music stutter for a second. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the sound of my stomach continuing its symphony of digestion.

    I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Instead, I did what any reasonable person in my position would do: I pretended it wasn’t me. I subtly shifted my weight, hoping to transfer the blame to the man with the phone. He, of course, was far too engrossed in his emails to notice my plight. The woman with the bag, however, was now giving me the side-eye, her face a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

    Escaping the Iron (and Judgmental) Box

    The next few floors couldn’t pass quickly enough. Each ding of the bell was like a tiny hammer tapping on my coffin of shame. Finally, mercifully, we reached my floor. I practically leaped out of the elevator, muttering a hasty “Have a nice day!” over my shoulder.

    As the doors closed behind me, I could have sworn I heard stifled laughter. I slunk down the hallway, vowing to never make eye contact with anyone in an elevator ever again.

    What Other Elevator Etiquette Rules Are There?

    My disastrous elevator experience taught me a valuable lesson: some unspoken rules are best left unbroken. But it also got me thinking, what are some other universally acknowledged (yet rarely spoken) rules of elevator etiquette? And have you ever had an experience where you accidentally (or spectacularly) broke them? Share your stories in the comments below – I promise mine can’t be topped!

  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)





    My Hilarious Elevator Etiquette Fails

    Let’s be honest, elevators are weird. They’re these metal boxes of forced intimacy hurtling us through the air, all while we pretend we’re not crammed together like sardines on a budget airline. And the unspoken rules? Don’t even get me started.

    I vividly recall my first “elevator etiquette fail.” Fresh out of college and eager to impress at my new job, I stepped into the elevator, brimming with nervous energy. An older gentleman joined me. Silence. More silence. Then, a desperate attempt at conversation on my part that went down like a lead balloon. From that day forward, I was determined to crack the code of elevator etiquette, only to realize…it’s all a bit ridiculous.

    The Art of (Not) Pushing Elevator Buttons

    Rule number one of Elevator Club: Thou shalt master the art of the button. You know the drill. Someone timidly murmurs, “Floor 12, please?” and suddenly, you’re the designated button pusher, responsible for the hopes and dreams (and timely arrival) of everyone onboard.

    But here’s where I break the mold. I’m a firm believer in what I call “the preemptive strike.” The moment I step inside, I unleash a friendly, “Anyone need this one?” while hovering over a random button. The result? People are either highly amused or slightly terrified. Either way, it’s a win in my book.

  • The Unspoken Rules of the Public Restroom (and the People Who Break Them)

    The Unspoken Rules of the Public Restroom (and the People Who Break Them)




    The Unspoken Rules of the Public Restroom (and the People Who Break Them)


    A Symphony of Awkwardness in Public Restrooms

    The other day, I found myself trapped in one of those airtight, single-occupancy public restrooms. You know the kind – the ones where the walls sweat and the air is thick with the ghosts of hand soap past. I was minding my own business, you know, when suddenly, a sound pierced the delicate silence. It was a symphony of awkward throat clearings and muffled grunts, originating from the stall next door. The culprit was attempting to engage in what can only be described as a full-blown conversation…on speakerphone.

    Look, I get it. We all have our bathroom habits, but some things should remain sacred, shrouded in the mystery of porcelain and flickering fluorescent lights. So, in the name of all that is holy and hygienic, let us delve into the unspoken rules of the public restroom, and the people who seem determined to shatter them.

    Public Restroom Etiquette: The Phone Zone is a No-Go Zone

    Let’s address the elephant in the room, or rather, the ringing phone in the next stall. Public restrooms are not your personal phone booth. No one, and I mean NO ONE, needs a play-by-play of your Aunt Mildred’s bunion surgery while they’re trying to…well, you get the picture.

    And while we’re on the topic of phones, let’s talk about speakerphone etiquette. Spoiler alert: there is none. Unless you’re a surgeon directing a life-saving procedure via FaceTime (and even then, questionable), keep your conversations private. We don’t need to know about your Tinder date or your latest stock options.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (And Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (And Why I Break Them All)




    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (And Why I Break Them All)


    The Produce Aisle Standoff: An Avocado Showdown

    Have you ever found yourself locked in a silent standoff with another shopper in the produce aisle? You know the one: you’re both eyeing the same perfect avocado, each pretending not to notice the other while subtly inching closer. Yeah, me too.

    It happened again last week. I was on a mission for guacamole ingredients, and there it was: the Holy Grail of avocados, perfectly ripe and just begging to be mashed. But wait. Another shopper had also spotted the prize. We circled each other like wary predators, our carts our chariots in this absurd territorial battle. Finally, I cracked. I reached out, snatched the avocado, and flashed a triumphant grin (okay, maybe it was more of a grimace). The look on the other shopper’s face? Priceless.

    Navigating the Dairy Dungeon: The Cart Conundrum

    We all know the unspoken rule of the dairy dungeon: Thou shalt not block the dairy aisle with thy cart. It’s a tight squeeze in there, and lingering too long while deciding between 2% and skim milk can feel like holding up a line of caffeine-deprived commuters.

    And yet, I confess: I am a dairy aisle dawdler. I can’t help it! The sheer variety of cheeses, yogurts, and milk alternatives sends me into a decision-making spiral. So, I’ve learned to embrace the “park and grab” technique. I park my cart perpendicular to the dairy aisle, creating a makeshift barrier (sorry, fellow shoppers!), and then I dart in and out, grabbing my dairy delights with the precision of a ninja.

    [IMAGE_DESCRIPTION: A person dramatically raising their arms in victory after successfully using the express lane with too many items]
  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Line-Stander (And Other Odd Social Observations)

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Line-Stander (And Other Odd Social Observations)




    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Line-Stander (And Other Odd Social Observations)


    Confessions of a Line-Standing Enthusiast (Or Not)

    So, the other day I found myself in a queue that snaked longer than a python at a buffet. It got me thinking: why are there so many unspoken rules about standing in line? We learn about grammar, table manners, and how to not eat glue, but line etiquette? That’s apparently a whole other curriculum.

    And it’s not just lines. Our social fabric seems woven with these invisible threads of expected behavior, these unwritten commandments of “thou shalt” and “thou shalt not” that nobody actually tells you about.

    The Line-Stander’s Creed: A Guide to Queue Decorum

    First, let’s tackle the obvious. Lines, queues, those human caterpillars inching towards a shared goal – they’re practically microcosms of society. Here’s a crash course in their silent language:

    • The Buffer Zone: This is sacred ground, people. Maintain a perimeter of personal space around the person in front of you. Imagine an invisible hula hoop – don’t make them wear it.
  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

    My Personal Elevator Everest

    The other day, I found myself in an otherwise uneventful elevator ride when it hit me: I am an elevator anarchist. Not in the sense of prying open the doors between floors or anything (that would be dangerous, kids!). But in the subtle, subversive ways I reject the unwritten code of conduct we’ve all come to accept in these metallic boxes of vertical transport.

    It all started with a harmless whistle. I was in a particularly good mood that day, sunshine radiating off my face like a personal spotlight, and a jaunty tune escaped my lips. The reactions were instantaneous: eyebrows shot up faster than the elevator itself, heads swiveled away like I’d sprouted a second head, and the air thickened with disapproval. It was like I’d committed the ultimate elevator faux pas.

    The Silent Treatment (and Other Elevator Etiquette Atrocities)

    We’ve all been there. Packed like sardines in a metal box, desperately avoiding eye contact and pretending the person mere inches away doesn’t exist. It’s the unspoken rule of elevator etiquette: thou shalt not acknowledge thy fellow passengers. But why? Is a simple “good morning” really going to shatter the delicate fabric of elevator reality?

    And don’t even get me started on the button-pushing protocol. Heaven forbid you accidentally hit the wrong floor button! The judgmental stares, the heavy sighs, the audible gasps of horror—it’s enough to make you want to take the stairs for the rest of your life.

    Here’s a revolutionary thought: what if, instead of treating elevators like moving sensory deprivation chambers, we actually, you know, acted like normal human beings? Imagine a world where brief, pleasant exchanges weren’t met with suspicion, where a simple “going up?” could brighten someone’s day.

    My One-Woman Elevator Etiquette Rebellion

    Look, I get it. Elevators can be awkward. We’re all crammed together in a confined space, silently judging each other’s choice of footwear and desperately hoping nobody smells our coffee breath. But I refuse to let these anxieties dictate my behavior. I will not be silenced! I will not be cowed by the tyranny of the “close door” button!

    These days, I make a conscious effort to break the mold. I smile at strangers (gasp!). I hum along to the elevator music (the horror!). I even—brace yourselves—engage in small talk (cue the dramatic music). And you know what? The world hasn’t ended yet. In fact, I’ve even had a few surprisingly delightful conversations in that most unlikely of places: the elevator.

    So, I Ask You, Dear Reader…

    Are you with me? Are you ready to join the elevator revolution? Or are you content to remain trapped in the suffocating silence of social convention? The choice is yours. But remember, life is too short for awkward silences and missed connections. So go forth, my fellow elevator rebels, and spread the gospel of human interaction, one floor at a time.

  • Why I’ll Never Again Ignore the ‘Close Door’ Button on an Elevator (and the Awkward Encounter That Ensued)

    Why I’ll Never Again Ignore the ‘Close Door’ Button on an Elevator (and the Awkward Encounter That Ensued)



    We’ve all been there. Trapped in an elevator, silently willing the doors to close faster. But me? I’m usually the one patiently waiting, a picture of politeness, as someone scrambles towards the closing doors. “Hold the elevator!” they shout breathlessly. And like a chump, I smile and oblige.

    The Day My Elevator Etiquette Backfired

    This all changed last Tuesday, thanks to an encounter that can only be described as “peak awkward.” Picture this:

    I’m in my office building’s elevator, heading to a meeting on the 10th floor. It’s just me and my reflection, momentarily enjoying the peace and quiet. The doors begin their slow, graceful close when suddenly… BAM! A hand shoots through the shrinking gap, stopping the doors in their tracks. Relief floods over the mystery person’s face as they squeeze through.

    Elevator Nightmare

    “Thank goodness!” the newcomer exclaims, slightly out of breath. I offer a polite smile, secretly hoping they’re going to the 9th or 11th floor. No such luck.

    This is where things take a turn for the weird. The person is carrying not one, not two, but THREE enormous gift baskets. We’re talking overflowing-with-goodies, decorated-within-an-inch-of-their-lives kind of baskets.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Waiting in Line (And Why I Always Seem to Break Them)

    The Unspoken Rules of Waiting in Line (And Why I Always Seem to Break Them)




    The Case of the Misplaced Coffee Order

    We’ve all been there. Standing in line, patiently (or not so patiently) waiting our turn. But have you ever noticed that there seems to be an unspoken code of conduct, a secret society of line-standers that you never received the memo for? Yeah, me too. And apparently, I missed the meeting where they handed out the rule book.

    Take last Tuesday, for example. I was at my usual coffee shop, buzzing with pre-caffeine withdrawal, when I committed a cardinal sin. I’d reached the counter, heart pounding with anticipation of that first glorious sip of coffee, only to realize—I had absolutely no idea what my friend wanted.

    line behind me grew longer (and presumably, more irritated), and all I could manage was a weak, “Uh… let me just check with my friend real quick?”

    The collective sigh from everyone within a five-foot radius was almost audible. I had broken the unspoken rule: Thou shalt not approach the counter unprepared.

    The Awkward Etiquette of Personal Space in Line

    Then there’s the delicate matter of personal space. We all crave it, especially when confined within the often-too-close-for-comfort boundaries of a line. But what constitutes “too close”?

    Again, I’m guilty as charged. I have this terrible habit of unconsciously inching forward, like a moth drawn to a flickering light, except in this case, the light is the person in front of me. I don’t mean to be invasive; it just kind of happens. But I’m sure it doesn’t make for the most comfortable experience for the unwitting recipients of my creeping.