Push button to close door

I like to think about settings in which speech will always be utterly awkward. The other day it struck me as I waited for the elevator in Monroe Hall. It seems that elevators are something for which the establishment of a social conduct was attempted, but we could never quite get right. No one ever really knows exactly how to carry themselves in relation to others when it comes to elevators. There are many dis-coordinated shuffles, apologies and hesitations--who is to board first? first one waiting, or first approaching when the door opens? It is a wonderful little dance of our absurd species. We enter after some fumbling of feet when the lift has alas arrived, only to stand with equal discomfort in the silence, each itching to leave the space, staring sideways or at the numbers above, pretending to look bored or preoccupied, each painfully aware of the other they are entrapped with..

The chosen one asks which floor, or is demanded of without invitation. Do you hold the elevator, throw your body between the slowly crunching metal doors when you see someone making a mad dash? Or have you had enough of the waiting? There are those who know each other, however loosely, that must acknowledge each other briefly before lapsing back into the silence that overtakes the place. It is either that or drag the conversation painfully on for an eternity until you reach the fifth floor. The silence seems most mutually uncomfortably comfortable. For those that cannot bear the heavy air, there are equally awkward jokes, short forced chuckles that echo dimly off the low ceiling.