Elevator Etiquette: Part 2

It's true. I can, on occasion, be grumpy in the morning. Those of you that know me have experienced this first hand (though I still maintain I do a fairly good job of being pleasant when required) but the more tired I am and the less I want to engage in the early activity required, the more grumpy I get.

I woke up this morning pounding on my alarm to shut it off. After a weekend of shenanigans, flying across the country, and grading papers where my young male students thought a wife cheating was justification for female genocide I really, with every quark in my body, did not want to get up and teach Hamlet at 8:00 am. Hamlet and I don't get along under the best of circumstances--see the "Ophelia" rant. But a person can't cancel class just because they hate everything and everyone.

I over slept a little bit, but I still made it to school on time. Coffee in one hand and bottled water in the other, I walked to the elevator sweating profusely and silently debating the suffocating humidity of my home state vs. the blast furnace weather of my current state. I could feel my backpack pushing my shirt against my perspiring back and my mood was less than elevated as I also considered how professional sweat stains are when discussing Hamlet. In the grand scheme of things, however, I hadn't peed on my skirt so I was still a step ahead of this time last year.

I hear the door down the hallway open and who comes around the corner but a young undergraduate fellow. His demeanor oozes disinterest and a smirk seems to be fairly plastered on his features. He eyes me as if I were a member of the ugly sorority and I felt my grumpiness toward the world intensify and zero in on his face. First off, the kid wasn't nearly good looking enough for the attitude he was sporting; this is not "the guy" that all the girls run after. This wasn't even a guy that most girls would notice. I wouldn't have noticed him if his raging case of I'm-nineteen-and-so-cool-it-hurts-itis hadn't more or less assaulted me when he came around the corner. Secondly I never to my knowledge look that unpleasant in public. In fact, I'm reasonably certain my unpleasant face is my most charming since every time I wear it random strangers want to talk to me.

The elevator arrives. This is the slowest elevator on campus by the by. We enter and I push 3. Two + floors is a perfectly acceptable elevator ride. He looked at me and I looked at him. Theme music from The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly whistled in the background. I said with my eyes, "Don't do it! I can tell you're a douchebag, but don't push 2! Don't be that guy!" I stood in a slightly aggressive posture blocking the number pad in such a way as to telepathically communicate my complete and total judgment of his character should he reach across on push 2. With a sneer on his lips and a vapidness in his eyes he reached over...and pushed 2.

I hate perfectly healthy people that ride the elevator only one floor.

Now, it's possible this young man had reasons for his behavior (the attitude, not the elevator). Maybe he woke up that morning, realized he was Oedipus, and was understandably befuddled by the new knowledge that he had killed his father and was sleeping with his mother. Maybe he was actually living a Quentin Tarantino movie and was on his way at that precise moment to assassinate someone. Maybe his mother never hugged him enough. I try to take these things into account, and to remind myself that not everyone knows the basic rules of polite society; you know the ones, don't belch in public, don't kick babies, don't ride the elevator one floor.

Here's the thing: nobody likes a whiner, and this kid was the archetype of a whiner. But despite all of that I never would have noticed or remembered him if hadn't ridden the elevator only one floor. It's a tough lesson, but one that I feel is worth learning.