The Elevator

Do we really need to examine with such ostensible fervour the numbers illuminate one by one as the elevator either ascends or descends? Or is it necessary to study the carpeting/and or mirrors on the walls of the lift as if it is the first or last time we’ll ever see them? Yes it apparently is. But, here’s the thing. Only when there is somebody else in the lift with whom we are not at all familiar.

I have just moved into a 10th storey flat on the beachfront, and having never lived in a flat before (let alone the 10th floor), I have never needed to use a lift on a daily basis. I hate it. No, really.

When I moved into the flat, I was given a lovely little booklet detailing all the dos and don’ts at this particular block of flats. Nice, thank you very much. But I hardly think that, “The throwing or discarding of any objects...over balconies or from windows is prohibited,” is a rule that really needs to be reiterated. Damn, there I was hoping to launch my leftover spaghetti bolognaise out of my lounge window to be smeared all over the window below. What this little book does not mention is etiquette in the lifts. Now this is not something I was taught at school, so it is still really a ‘grey’ area. Sorry, I really cannot help it – I am currently seeking medical attention.

Next time you’re in a lift alone and somebody else (alone) gets in, do yourself a favour and study his/her body language. It’s awkward. Here you are stuck in an area no bigger than 1.2m by 1.5m with someone you have never met before. Also, take note of how slowly the doors close once this person enters, and then how slowly the lift seems to move. Watch the other person. I am willing to bet my unquestioned and liberal use of vowels for a week that the other person is either:

1. Watching the numbers illuminate as the lift moves,
2. Studying the walls/and or floor of the lift,
3. Reaching for his/her cell phone and pretending to read a message/access Facebook or the like,
4. Or finally, if they are really that desperate to avoid eye contact, closing his/her eyes while pretending to be deep in thought.

All of the above apply except when the person is over the age of say, 60 years old. Then, the opposite happens. The person will be looking directly at you as if you promised them a few days ago that you had something life-changing to tell them. During this time you’ll be doing one of the four mentioned above. He/she will have a small grin, and if after a few seconds, notices that you’re not interested, will enlighten you with, “It’s been so hot lately?” I put the question mark there, because the sentence will be spoken in such a way (with an inflexion at the end), that you’ll be forced to respond with something as banal as, “Yes, I actually can’t wait for winter, funnily enough.”

Well done. You have now opened up a space with endless possibilities. The geriatric now has an infinite number of responses, which in turn, is likely to give birth to what I’d like to term an elevator friendship. The geriatric (let’s call her Molly) will now, forever and a day, refer back to your words and provide a different response each and every time she (why it’s a ‘she’, I have no idea, just go with it - it’s the picture I have in my head) spots you in the lift/in the passage/at the supermarket. And, when she sees you at the supermarket while she is doing her weekly shop with Gertrude, she’ll say to Gertrude (loud enough so you can hear), “There is that young boy/girl that can’t wait until winter.” Once again, you’ll feel obliged to smile and respond. Well done. And all you wanted to do all those months ago was go to the shop for a litre of milk. And now look; all of a sudden you’re a young boy/girl who prefers winter.

Oh, wait. So where was I? The lift. I really do not enjoy it. I like to be alone in the lift. If I get in there first, it is my lift. I pull funny faces at the mirror sometimes, or I play a few cover drives or square cuts (cricket shots) while making that click noise as ‘the ball hits the bat.’ Now what would Molly make of it if I asked her to please stand against the wall of the lift because Peter Siddle was getting ready to run in at me, and we needed four runs to win off the last ball? I’ll tell you one thing. The next time she sees you at the supermarket, she’ll turn to Gertrude and proudly proclaim, “There’s that young boy who plays cricket for South Africa. And d’you know what Gertie? He lives in the same block of flats as me.”

Your response? You need to get off strike fast. Take your stance, await Siddle’s delivery, get onto the back foot, run one down to third man and take a very quick single.