Elevator etiquette

By P.C. Trill (@trillconian)

Takes are free. Always unwarranted. Any questions, comments, or concerns, @ me or cash me online.

I’m starting to think every workplace should do away with elevators. 68.8% of adults are considered to be obese. Not to brag but I’m definitely in the 1/3 of normal weight people.

I would rather be in a 3 hour lecture on a Friday night, than stuck in an elevator full of strangers. Being in a crowded elevator is as awkward as “coincidentally” running into that colleague you slept with at the last office party at the water cooler, or doing the “office dance,” when you turn a corner and bump into your boss and you each juke the same direction three times and can’t get past each other. I try and avoid places that force me to make friends; that’s why I quit college so many times.

The blatant lack of respect in every office building elevator is incredible. How about those lazy bastards that take the elevator 1 floor?

*It’s 8:55 A.M. The elevator is on the ground floor and you run in just before the doors begin to close. You catch your breathe. There is only one other person in the elevator with you. He asks what floor and you look at board with floor 1 pressed. You do the mental math on whether it’s worse tearing them a new one, literally and figuratively.*

Hey jackass, take your ass on the stairs. It’s just one flight. That’s probably like 12 steps. Do everyone in the office and yourself a favor: walk off that extra KitKat you snuck in on your commute and take the stairs. When you get to the top, you will feel accomplished. Want to know the best part about these 12 steps? You aren’t forced to take them because you’re a drunk or a druggie, you’re just an inconsiderate prick.

The same goes for the end of the day. It’s Friday and you’re about to be free, except that the elevator stops on floor one, and you’re already a full box. Sometimes I envision myself RKOing this person, but I like my job. One day, after a marathon of a week, I may not have the patience and you’ll see my ass on the news, so stay tuned.

There should be a ban for people with reheated leftovers on the elevator too. I didn’t WANT to smell your reheated salmon John, but now I’m stuck in the elevator with you for the next 36 seconds and I feel like I’m in a gas chamber. It’s quite possibly the worst “hot box,” of all time. After I polish off my respectable Italian hoagie (gyro, sub depending on what part of the country your from, but quite frankly no one gives a shit, it’s a hoagie), the last thing I want singeing my untrimmed nose hair is your leftovers’ pungent smell that reminds me of the pisser at my favorite dive bar.

There is a special place in hell for these people. Purgatory would be paradise for what should happen to these terrorists. If it were up to me, these people should be forced to clean out Porta Potties after Coachella with toothbrushes.

The conversations that you have in an elevator are like the ones you have with that old bat shit crazy aunt at every family party. You try and keep them very basic, very surface level just to appease them. Deep down though, you’re counting the seconds until it’s over. It’s less of a conversation than it is an interrogation.

Lastly, if you don’t make eye contact with the person running to the door, you aren’t obligated to hold the door for them. Now most of the time I keep my head up because A) I’m +6' (I know, second brag of this blog. I never claimed to be humble.), and B) I want to establish dominance. Once I enter the elevator, though, I passively put my head down because I don’t want to make eye contact with Sally from HR and be forced to hold the door open. So please note: ALWAYS STARE AT YOUR PHONE ONCE YOU GET IN THE ELEVATOR. Then you can just claim ignorance. I take it a step further and have my headphones in with no music on, but if you’re a risk taker like that, do you fam.

Until they only make one level buildings, or realize how much angst elevators really cause, I think we’re going to be stuck riding the stinky metal box. In the mean time, take the stairs you slobs.

P.C. Trill sober(ish) and out.

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