I work on the 13th floor.
Towards nine thirty am, everyone starts lining up in a long winding queue and are shunted into one of the four elevators that services the four floors our offices are on. 11 ... 12 ... 13 ... 14.
After the initial smiles and 'Good Mornings' while in the line, the elevator is usually a quiet ride up, with everyone staring at the closed metal doors as if in intense prayer. One or two have iPods and escape the silence. The others shift their feet around, some look at the ceiling as if light suddenly dawned upon them, some their shoes to check if their laces are tied perhaps and some their watches as if deeply concerned whether its 9:25 or 9:26.
If it's been a weekend, and a Sr. Exec is part of the entourage, there's a cheerful 'how was the weekend' from an eager Jr. Exec to which the Sr. says 'great, how was yours' to which the Jr. Exec says 'great' and then silence. And a bunch of rabbits somersault in the Jr. Exec's head, trying to grab something intelligent...lift, speed, road, jaguar... when someone glibly pops up about the sub-prime crisis and Jr. is like, drat, wish he'd read the morning papers instead of flipping through Auto Car in the loo. And this is just from 9:25 to 9:35 a.m.
An elevator, like life, has its characters. As the day passes, all of them emerge, and claim their space in the shuttling metal box.
About 11 a.m. or so, when you decide to get a cup of tea at the canteen on floor 11, you'll meet the no-Deo person who's just rushed in from the hot sun and a long meeting. Usually people busy themselves or avoid entering the elevator when they spot one of these, and if they do find themselves closeted with one, try entering the book of records for the longest one can hold one's breath, unassisted. Or perhaps this would be assisted. Close to murder then. There's also the too much-Deo person who's as bad. And the same record is aimed for.
Towards lunchtime, you're bound to meet the entertaining ones. The local train ones that rush into the lift before anyone's had a chance to get off, the merry hummers, the backslappers, the swearers, the silent smirkers, the liftman's best friends. There'll also be a bunch of girls, one of whom would have a new bag or a pair of impossibly high stilettos that the others must admire right then and there, with an excited squeal. Then guys and girls that unwittingly fill everyone in on the latest affairs, who's bitching about whom, and what porn film is on the shared drive. And of course, the ones who hold up everyone's lunch, by saying, 'just a second, just coming', and don't allow the doors to close till all of his/her gang has made it.
At about 3 pm, when the elevators are sluggish, sleepy and empty, you'll meet the lurker. The one who no matter how empty the elevator, will stand close to you. Within breathing distance is preferable. It might force you to step out a few floors earlier and walk the rest up by stairs or simply wait for the next elevator, but that doesn't seem to waver his/her 'no personal space' policy.
The evenings are peaceful, with everyone beaming, saying hurried byes, rushing to catch their 6:00 bus or the 6:15 train or get their cars out before the highway traffic gets worse. The elevator is slowly emptied and left to wind down till the flurry begins the next day. The same drama, the same characters, move up and down again.
I read just now there's something called elevator etiquette, and thanked god that we didn't have any of it. Life would cease to be such a fascinating journey every day.
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