I hate elevators. Wait, wait… It’s not because I fear falling or getting stuck in one. No. I hate elevators because of people. Sadly, I ride one every day I go to work.
Now, I want you to get me right, because I know some of you are already judging me. The thing is, I hate what happens in the elevator, not the people.
The moment you walk in, you feel the immediate shift of mood. Silence welcomes you. Nobody speaks. Nobody smiles. You squeeze yourself in and accidentally bump into someone. Then panic. In unison, everyone stops looking at their phones and gives you a look like you are carrying a bomb in your backpack. Deep inside, you smile, saying, “Relax, it’s just an old Lenovo,” while tightening your grip on your worn-out bag strap.
In a moment, it starts moving. Then you remember you did not select your floor number yet. Your mind was disoriented the moment you became a suicide bomber suspect. You stretch your arm to the keypad only to see your floor number is already selected. You smile to hide the awkward quick scan around you have just done to see if you recognize someone. Funny enough, you don’t see anyone because they are standing right behind you.
It is even worse when you find one person in. Now what happens next depends on a couple of factors like their gender, their facial expression, and other awkward reasons. Sometimes you can actually feel that the other person doesn’t want to talk to you. So, you walk in and fumble to press your floor number.
Then you stand still as the metal box starts moving. Something in you shouts, “Don’t say a word.” So, you just chill, watching the floor numbers change while your body works extra hard to avoid eye contact. Your shoulders tighten. For some reason, you have the urge to swallow some saliva that came from nowhere. For sure the other person doesn’t hear the sound of that, but in your ears, it sounds like a flood of water flowing downhill. It’s crazy.
But behind all the silence, the awkward moments, there are all sorts of stories.
Some are going through a divorce. Some are going to a disciplinary hearing and are busy rehearsing answers that will not help. Some just lost a parent or a friend. Some were fired that morning and still showed up on time out of habit.
Some have a terminal illness and quietly wonder if tomorrow will come. Some are late on their first day of work and already planning the apology. Some just got promoted and are trying not to smile too early. And yes, some are just rude and angry for no reason.
The strange part is, outside the elevator, these same people function just fine. They greet. They joke. They complain about traffic and debate whether the earth is flat.
But inside the elevator, everyone shuts down. The elevator removes roles, titles, status. No distance, just bodies in a box moving upward… or downward wherever you are going.
That makes people uncomfortable.
Elevators expose something simple. Most of our daily anxiety comes from people, not places. It comes from the untold stories that are carried in the hearts of strangers.
And for a few floors, you carry them too.
