Wednesday, June 02, 2004


By confining its inhabitants to a small area, an elevator effectively produces a uniquely populated environment that stays consistently inconsistent with the passing of each floor. Remaining anonymous in such an environment takes effort. Quite a bit of effort, actually: you must stand still, face the front, make minimal noise, refrain from eye contact, and keep facial expressions to a minimum. This code of anonymity also carries over to the waiting area in front of the elevators. Except you're allowed to acknowledge the other passengers with either a brief "hello" or a raised eyebrow/head nod as they arrive while waiting for the elevator itself to arrive.

Being in, or around, an elevator generates a constellation of impulses that I find myself constantly suppressing. One of which is trying not to push the elevator call button when it already has been pressed. This impulse becomes quite intense especially if the person that appears to have pressed the button looks like they're a few eggs short of a dozen. Another impulse is the need to explain to those entering the elevator about the funny smell, and that I am definitely not the creator of the offending odor.

One of the more embarrassing things to do on an elevator, besides passing gas audibly, is to get off on the wrong floor and then get back on the elevator. You feel like an idiot, so you end up smiling sheepishly at the other passengers like an idiot, and then turn to face the front of the elevators again. You then suppress this insatiable need to explain yourself to the others in the elevator why you just did the elevator hokey-pokey.

Honestly, there is nothing that needs to be said. Everybody has done that exact same thing before. Nobody needs to hear an explanation. Simply, the rest of the passengers in the elevator are content simply looking at the back of your head thinking simultaneously: you're a retard.