Elevators are Weird.

Once upon a time, I was returning home from a more-than-typical, tortuous Monday at the office. As I entered one of the five elevators in my apartment's lobby, I am joined by an unfamiliar resident. The doors close and I hit "13". The stranger hits "2". TWO?!? Turns out my fellow resident was not a stranger at all, I knew exactly the type of person he was. After deciding he was clearly the reason behind the slow elevators and my having to wait for seemly ever in the morning, I wished him a nice day and scolded his back as the elevator doors closed to leave him.

I have thought about elevators daily over the past 11 months. See, before moving to this "great" big city, I spent 5 years living in college towns doing college things as a college student. Now, I live in a big city not sure what I am doing as a performative adult. As a college student, I rarely encountered elevators. I actually cannot think of a single time I rode an elevator outside of touring apartments. I ended up never living in an apartment with an elevator in college. Now, they are completely unavoidable. Well, not completely, but despite judging my second floor stranger, I am also unwilling to climb 13 floors to my bed or 36 to my office desk. 

Earlier this year, I was returning to the office from picking up a salad around the corner. I do not enjoy salads, only the Rico Salad from my favorite Mexican chain, but I felt bloated and a salad seemed like the cure. As the number increased 27...28...29...all I could think was instead of the salad I could have drank another cup of coffee while talking a long stroll to get the system going....30....31...then I could have gotten a couple slices from the pizza place next door...32...33...or I could have done half pizza and half salad...34...35...35...I'll do that next time...35....wait. For the next 5 minutes, I sat somewhere between the 35th and 36th floors speaking with the building facilities worker as he hurried to get me and my miraculously debloating meal back to my desk. He got a few radio calls as he was helping me, I told him I was in no trouble and encouraged him to abandon me to help his colleagues with taking carboard to the compressor. He insisted that leaving me in the elevator even with a meal would be completely inappropriate. Those were the most peaceful 5 minutes I had in the office in a while. 

Meanwhile, the most off putting elevator situations never happen alone. This is what it usually looks like: you are with a friend and half-way through a PG-rated story about the night before when you enter the elevator. You are about to tell your friend that you are not going to text the guy from the night before back because he mentioned never having a girlfriend and you just got out of a man-childcare situation...when someone else enters the elevator. Imagine whoever you want, it does not matter because the outcome is always the same. The conversation reaches a sudden stop as if you and friend are discussing classified government information following your three margaritas (each) at lunch. I find myself striking up conversation in lines, at bars, on walks, really in most silent situations. So, why do I let the awkward silence win in elevators? Am I just not extroverted enough? Or is the ride too short? What can you really say in an elevator ride to a stranger? 

Throughout schooling and while entering the work force, we learn about the so-called "elevator pitch." I tried writing and memorizing one for myself, but it sounded forcefully-awkward and desperate every time I rehearsed it. Now, in the work force, I see how foolish I was practicing my pitch. I prefer to network the old-fashion way, averaging about 1 drink a hour with new contacts and 1.5 drinks with familiar contacts. The best networking occurs at the local gay bar around a basket of fried pickles and plate of cheese fries at a splintering picnic table on a sunny day. Currently, the score of successful contacts made at local gay bar versus successful contact made in any elevator is about 6 to 0.  

We may ascend in silence, but we all depart into noise. Elevators are weird. So, am I. 

Welcome,

From Floor **13