Elevator Stories #5: Wrong floor

On my daily afternoon break, I came across three silly girls. They looked like job seekers fresh out of college: intimidated, clueless and unprepared. They were giggling like a bevy of schoolgirls on recess. They also seemed like close friends sharing an adventure. Good attitude. They bumped into me, well they were bumping into everyone really, in the elevator lobby. The elevator I was waiting for shoots straight up to the 20th floor from ground level. They were obviously lost and I don't know why they followed me inside the lift when they were clearly unsure of what to do. One of them hesitated and said I don't think this is right, but she got on anyway, propelled by her friends' sudden hysteria at the thought of being separated. They were discussing their next move and were about to alight when I pressed the door close button. This action should by no means be taken as cruelty on my part. I am not an unkind person but I wasn't about to let excellent entertainment get away either. They seemed like they were having fun anyway, in a terror-stricken sort of way.

It was a hilarious sight, one was wailing about being hopelessly lost "Where are we going? What floor are we on? How do we get out of here? Oh we'll never find our way" and another giggling uncontrollably, so much so that she had her mouth open but she was not producing any sound at all on account of the lack of air coming in. The third one was laughing too but at least she was struggling for composure as she tried to gain some control of the situation by speaking slowly to the other two. She didn't seem to be getting through to them. The doors opened at 20 and they shuffled themselves out when I got out. I had to exit the scene quickly because by this time I couldn't help smiling widely, thoroughly amused, and I was finding it difficult to wipe it off my face. When I left them, they were standing in the lobby awkwardly, holding each other up and still tittering.

Silly girls.

Elevator Stories #4: Goodies and a can of Sprite

Yesterday during our break, I met Hairboy outside across the building for a smoke. He's leaving in January! So many people are leaving the company this month and next month too, but there are loads of newly hired...hirelings. Hihihi. Anyway afterwards we went to the building canteen to get something to eat. Nothing ever looks appetizing there (although I do dine there quite often) so I just bought a can of Sprite. We dallied in the elevator lobby while waiting for our ride. There were several people walking around carrying large gift packs and we griped about how small and light ours were. We talked about how we expected to have a difficult time carrying them around at the party last weekend before they were distributed and imagined how we would strain under the weight of the goodies. We even devised elaborate plans of getting them home successfully. One of the gift pack carriers was particularly burdened by his basket, it was full of yummy chips and fruit and loads of canned stuff, I think I even saw a bottle of cheap wine in there. HB and I were very envious indeed.

So we got in our lift and tried to laugh off our envy. By this time, my hand had gotten very numb from the cold can so I shifted it to the other hand that already held my phone and wallet. That can was freezing cold. Our lift had only a handful of people in it and there was room to move around. I wasn't sure if popping open a can of soda is considered rude but I feared my fingers would start falling off. Loudly I asked HB if it was okay for me to open my can. He said it was fine but looked a little doubtful. The others glanced at me briefly and looked as if they would frown upon this sort of thing. I was going to wait till we got off at our floor but I wanted to know if they would say anything and more importantly, I wanted to know if the pressure from the can would interfere with the smooth elevator operation. Hehe. I popped it open. I took a sip and it tasted like Sprite. Nothing happened to the elevator. I got frowned at though. I did discover that the popping sound is a lot noisier and more intrusive and I felt rude for not having waited. So now I know better. You really do learn by doing.

Elevator stories #3: Elevator code of honor

From the moment that I board the elevator in our building, it takes me less than 10 seconds to get to my floor. In a matter of a few seconds, complete strangers are forced into a common (yet very unnatural) environment. They are suspended in time with nowhere else to go, temporarily trapped in a box with other strangers. I actually enjoy this little bit of time. While everyone is busy looking at their phones, checking their reflection in the mirror, gossiping with their companions or just plain staring off into space trying to avoid eye contact, I like looking at who I'm momentarily stuck with, trying to gauge what kind of life they lead, if they like their jobs, if they're claustrophobic, if we get stuck inside the elevator for hours, who would flip out first, that sort of thing. I find that I am fascinated by such speculations.

Everyone is mindful of personal space (very rare in Manila), trying not to annoy the others by taking up as little room as possible, avoiding making any gross bodily noises (particularly phlegmy throat clearing) and being sufficiently embarrassed in instances when it cannot be helped. Most importantly, there seems to be a strict rule, an alighting/boarding etiquette that seasoned elevator passengers adhere to. The Elevator Code of Honor if you will. Only shameless people disrespect this code.

Hairboy and I usually come across each other during our afternoon break. Today was no different. We took the down elevator together and chatted for a bit while waiting to alight on the ground floor. As soon as the doors opened, three smartly dressed girls were right outside. Briefly, I asked myself why I never ever look like they did. Then I rebuked myself, well if only you brushed your hair once in a while then maybe you can look a little bit more presentable, and no, running your fingers through your hair a couple of times doesn't count.

Now, this is the crucial moment when elevator etiquette applies. But the girls had no such respect for the ECH. They marched straight in, not waiting for us to exit the lift before they occupied it, not even stepping aside as they moved forward, making it difficult for the 5 or 6 of us still inside to get out. They knew they were being inconsiderate, but I guess they deemed it too late to backtrack without losing their composure. This kind of blatantly inconsiderate behavior annoys me. To be fair, they weren't pushing to get in but they were overpopulating the doorway and being very obnoxious about it. So as we were trying to get out and they were trying to get in, I said to them loudly, "Let us out first". No response. I should have added 'you hoes' at the end. Hardened souls, the lot of them. We finally stepped away into freedom. A man, who was with us in the lift, said, "They just walked right in, didn't they?" We were immediately bonded in our righteous indignation.

So one may be dressed impressively in a flashy corporate suit but any elevator passenger knows that it only takes a few character-stripping seconds in the elevator lobby...

Elevator stories #2: Elevator and music

I was on my break earlier and I got in an elevator headed towards the ground floor. Strange that it is called an elevator, considering that it doesn't just go up. Anyway, it was semi full and people were respectfully silent except for one man who must have been playing his music at full volume, because we were getting blasted by yearning guitar strumming and equally yearning vocals. I didn't know whether to laugh because he was listening to All Out of Love by Air Supply or cry because I recognized it.

Elevator stories #1: Elevator action

Nono not the videogame, but now that I've mentioned it, wasn't that game amazing? Hehe I just came across a free download of it. I haven't decided if I want to risk installing it yet.

Anyway that reminds me of my minor mishap earlier this evening. I was coming back to work from my dinner break when I had a bit of a kerfuffle (hehe) stepping off the elevator and onto my floor. I had one foot on my floor and the other inside the elevator when I realized that I could no longer move forward. My right heel had unmistakably sunk into one of the little holes designing (badly, I have to say) the threshold. Not to worry though, I got out of that situation without shaming myself too much. Thankfully I was alone in the lift. Phew. Anyway I guess I retained an overdeveloped sense of respect for elevators from that scary incident when I was 10 (I got stuck between floors and had to force the elevator doors open before I could squeeze myself out), because I did not panic at all. That was surprising. Instead, I calmly placed my hand on one of the door sensors, pulled my right foot out of the stuck shoe, carefully placed two of my toes on either side of the heel base and made sure I had a firm grip before deftly dislodging the heel from the little hole. The guard had noticed my predicament and rushed over but I already managed to extricate my shoe and slip my foot back in it before he could get to me. I flashed him a smile and walked on, feeling triumphant.

That reminds me of this one very humiliating time, not too long ago, when my friends and I were on an escalator and my shoe got stuck at the bottom. I have this horrible habit of not stepping over the vicious teeth. The security guard had to stop the belt motor, steady me (I stood on one leg once we stopped moving), yank my shoe free AND hand it back to me. It was rather frightening. I imagined my foot getting chewed up while the belt fed the rest of my body in and then coming out at the other end all bloody and mangled. But the spectacle had gathered a small crowd of onlookers and I was too embarrassed to entertain such thoughts for too long. So I tried to laugh the whole matter off airily and continued walking in my damaged and misshapen shoe with as much dignity as I could muster.