Elevator

January 22, 2018

Greetings from the 12^th Floor,

I am that person who pushes the elevator button multiple times to see if I can hurry the process along.  I picture this dingy room filled with wires and cables and switches, with a little man sitting there choosing which elevator to send where.  Every time I push the button a bell rings and he is reminded that I am in a hurry.  If that little vignette were true, he has always ignored me for my own good.

I stood in the marble lobby, mentally drumming my fingers, as a small crowd gathered around the doors.  Four different banks of elevators, and we waited, like contestants in some kind of survival game, to see which would open for us.

At that moment we are a different group of people then a minute later.  Couples talk to each other, making plans, mothers admonish children, friends chat about where they just had breakfast.  I know everyone was silently trying to guess which door would open.

There was a subtle chime and the doors opened and several of us got on.  A few stayed behind, owing to claustrophobia or the hopes, perhaps, of better company.  Our party crowded into the car and did our best to find a suitable place, first in hugging the walls, the rest left in the purgatory in the middle.

And we became different.  People holding bags, some cups of coffee.  Everyone did their best to stare at something, avoiding eye contact.  The floor, the numbers on the readout, a few looked at phones. 

I am generally a social person, but I try to respect the unwritten rules of elevator travel.  Do not engage.  Look straight ahead at the doors.  Try not to touch anyone.  But in the first seconds of our trip I was overcome with two opposing emotions.  One was the feeling of celebration I entered with.  The other was the sadness of the box of people ignoring each other as part of a social contract.

People reached around each other to push the button for their floor, a couple in the back asking ‘Fifteen please.’ so their proxy could vote for their destination for them.  And by the time the doors were closing we had done our work and were ready for the trip.

A man alone, suit and tie, a young couple, a man carrying a grocery bag, a woman in a print dress, someone’s grandparents, a woman with a little girl, two women both wearing name tags that said ‘Herbalife’ on them.  And me.

I sighed to myself.  The conflict between the opposing emotions raged in that fraction of a second and then I said out loud “Good morning!  How is everyone?”

The responses were about what you would expect.  Some soft replies, barely audible, a few nods.  A woman the corner, sixteenth floor, held her purse in front of her and smiled a response, then lowered her eyes again.

I realized looking at the panel that several of the buttons were lit, showing that nearly everyone was getting off on a different floor.  Which, in elevator journeys, would be a marathon.  The total trip might be a couple of minutes.

“So nice to have warm weather, isn’t it?” I said to the group. The week’s temperatures had been below freezing, crazy for Dallas.  The sun had cracked that shell the day before with nearly 70 degrees.  My traveling companions nodded or grunted one word replies and looked up at the floor readout hopefully. 

I asked the Herbalife ladies about their convention and they were all smiles and gushing about the week, but probably because they were getting off on three.  I wished them good luck with their business.  And then of course I felt compelled to send everyone off with something.

“Have a great one.”

“Enjoy your day.”

“Take care now.”

“Have fun today.”

I recognize that this kind of behavior could be a little annoying, in part because people feel put upon to respond.  No one asked me to be the Social Director on our vertical cruise.  The fact is I could not resist.  I felt more like being together in that box than being alone.

My floor was coming up so I shuffled to the front to signal my intention.  I stepped through the door, thinking maybe someone would say something.  Silence.  As I got off I glanced back into the car for a second.  The woman in the corner, sixteenth floor, lifted her hand slightly in a shy wave.  She said: “Goodbye.”

It as a sad little voice.  It was not ‘Have a nice day.’ but rather ‘Goodbye.’

In the short walk to my room from the elevator I imagined the rest of what was not said.  ‘Goodbye.  Thanks for traveling with us and making a few awkward moments bearable.’

I find it helps to take creative liberties with reality in order to make the day more interesting.

I realize I was breaking the rules of elevator decorum.  I know for some people I might have been annoying.  In my mind it’s a chance worth taking.  The best moments of my day are when I connect with others, and you can’t do that staring at your feet.  Remember that before you get into an elevator with me. 

Hope this finds you holding the door,

David

Copyright © 2018 David Smith