In my life, I will never meet someone as frustrating as the person who calls an elevator on the ground floor to go down to the basement — especially when they do it without a broken leg, a thrown-out back or a gut the size of a small planet. So imagine my astonishment when I saw someone at the Law Tower walk in the door, walk past the stairs and hit the down button for the basement. For those of us imprisoned for the next three years in the Law Tower, it always seems to happen when we need to go to the bathroom and have unwillingly taken the scenic route from the 15th floor. We hit every floor, and people hold the door to chat with passersby on the outside. Then someone accidentally presses the wrong button, and now the elevator needs to make a superfluous stop at the 15th floor. Then you hit a floor that nobody picked, but that was called from the outside, only to find that the caller has fled the scene like an immigrant worker at a Broadway show after realizing today is the local police precinct’s “cultural night.” Then you realize that the three of you who got on the elevator way back when the 15th floor was still a fresh memory all neglected to press the button for the basement. So there we go, shooting back up again, to do the whole song and dance once more.
Like the DMV, the T and fourth dates, elevators have a tendency to bring out the worst in people. The most significant example of this is also the most basic one: The person who walks into an elevator, presses his button and proceeds to stare at the floor number as if it were the clock counting down to Armageddon. This person probably also keeps the iPod bubble enclosed firmly around himself, further disengaging himself from the outside world. Trying to even nod hello to these folks is more useless than resisting the Obamanator. As soon as they approach the elevator, all their circuits governing conduct shut down — which is why elevator etiquette is so important.
There certainly are don’ts that even Johnny Don’t would understand. Don’t stop the elevator, for any reason. Any reason. Don’t press all the buttons as you’re getting off, either. It’s poor form. Don’t tell your buddy you’re taking the stairs and then hit the down button on every floor (note: this only works on really slow elevators). That’s just obnoxious. Don’t fart on the elevator. It’s poor form. If you can’t hold it for 30 seconds, then get out, do your duty and take the next elevator up. The world appreciates it.
Given everyone’s proclivity for getting on an elevator and immediately and unwaveringly commencing to stare at the floor numbers, I thought I’d try a little experiment. I blocked out an hour of my day just to ride the elevators in the Law Tower. I would look at the person who came in right in the eye and smile, just to see what happened. That’s it. Eye contact and smile. Be friendly. Follow established norms of social conduct by making a conscious effort to be open and receptive to human acknowledgement.
I lasted all of 13 minutes before policemen showed up to cart me away because of “a high number of complaints.” Alas.
So, the next day, after posting bail, I did the opposite. I chose to be an elevator jerk, that one awful person we all know and hate. I started entering elevators before people had a chance to get off. I turned my earphones to 11, to make sure everyone heard my rockin’ Iron Maiden-Cranberries mix. And when I saw someone running towards the elevator I was already in, pleading for me to hold the door because they had class five minutes ago, I just smiled and waved at them slowly with one hand while I used the other to repeatedly press at the “door close” button.
It was so damned liberating! The BU elevator doors have a tendency to start closing not stop until each door is less than an inch from the arm you threw in to try to stop it. It’s like a sadistic circus lion. They will put you in so much fear of losing your limb that sometimes it’s just better to let them go. Due to my inexcusable behavior, I was afraid that it would backfire on me, and the karma police would intervene. The next time I would try to stop an elevator’s doors from closing, they would not listen and cut my arm off like some bad Jaws sequel, giving me just retribution for my earlier affront to the karma gods.
And nothing happened. My bad deeds went unpunished. Unfortunately, that’s not bound to continue. My bad deeds will at some point be punished. And while I’m starting to enjoy this nihilistic behavior because the freedom is so intoxicating, I can’t help but have visions. One day after I cut in line, step on the grass and fail to bus my tray at the GSU, I’m going to get what’s coming to me. And then I’ll take the quick way down from the Law Tower, sans elevator, while the decent people all cheer. I can’t do it. But I can’t reclaim the elevators by myself. You’re going to have to help. And it starts with you holding the freakin’ door, please!
Carlos Maycotte, a first-year student in the School of Law, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].
