Elevators. What’s the deal with the awkward silence? You step in, someone’s already there. Do you nod? Do you say ‘good morning’? How much good morning is too much good morning? And then the door closes, and suddenly it’s a silent agreement. We’re all here, standing, staring at the numbers. Don’t look at their shoes. Don’t look at their hair. Just stare ahead, or maybe at the floor indicator. And heaven forbid someone tries to make small talk. ‘Going up?’ Yes, I’m going up! We’re in an elevator, what else would I be doing? Going sideways? It’s like we’re all trapped in a metal box, collectively trying to pretend the other people don’t exist until we reach our designated floor. And then the door opens, and it’s like we all just snap out of a trance, scattering into the wild.
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