First World Blues

Remember that post I wrote about letting fly in public washrooms? Well I had an almost equally awkward experience the other day that I'd like to share with you. By the way, have you ever noticed that the word "awkward" is, pleasingly, a very awkward word? Even with my massive philosophical vocabulary, a fantastic plethora of verbalities at my command, I can't even think of another real word that has the string of letters "wkw". I made up a bunch of fake ones though, like if I found a bird that lived in snow, I might call it a "Snowkwall".

Back to my awkward experience. Elevators. What the hell are you supposed to do in elevators? You walk into an elevator and there are, as I see it, three obvious possibilities:

1) There is no one else in the elevator. You enjoy your ride, maybe dance a little bit just because you can, maybe hit ten or twelve buttons on the way out, again just because you can, and you go merrily on your way. This is pretty fun. If someone else enters the elevator before your floor, please see possibility #3 for explanation.

2) The elevator is full, or nearly full. You squeeze in, or try and squeeze in, or just stare longingly at the passengers because you know that your huge ass could never fit into the tiny spaces that exist between the sweaty people inside. That's because you're fat and you need to get on the god damned exercise bike more than once a month, since riding the exercise bike once a month does NOTHING except make the seat smell funny. If you do make it inside the elevator, your personal space is so infringed upon that you get the distinct feeling you're in prison. You breathe a sigh of relief as you finally arrive at your floor, and you squeeze back out before the guy eating the chili dog can burp down the back of your shirt again. This is pretty awkward, but you do feel something akin to a sense of community, as everyone else's personal space was completely violated as well. You are only one among many, who out of sheer laziness have ridden the elevator to the second floor. That wasn't really so bad. Six out of ten on the awkward scale. Would this be a logarithmic scale? I don't know. I'll have to think about that one... No, probably not. Yeah, just a standard scale will do. Ok then.

3) The doors of the elevator open and there is one person already on the elevator. You step into the elevator and you feel as if you're stepping into someone's bedroom - it reeks of personal space. And maybe dirty undies. As you hit the button you can't help but feel that you simply do not belong here, as if you're trespassing on personal property. You feel as if you've done something wrong but you don't really know what, or why. The other person feels the same way - this was his elevator just moments ago, and now someone else has invaded it, and he can no longer dance like an idiot for no reason because he will be judged accordingly. Each person feels like moving as far away as possible from the other person. This is supremely awkward all on its own, trying to figure out just how far to stand from someone in a small room, calculating the exact distance that will minimize tension while maintaining social respect; if you go too far, the other person will think you don't like them, or that they smell or look funny. If you stay too close, well, then you're a creep. Finally there's the matter of where to look while you're in the elevator. Do you sheepishly look straight down at your own shoes, trying to imagine what they might look like if you were alone in the elevator and able to dance like an idiot? Do you look up at the elevator numbers as they climb (or descend, but then you should have taken the stairs anyway, fatass) excruciatingly slowly? Why are there never any advertisements in elevators? Wouldn't that be an excellent way to pass the time, just read about the new Chanel fragrance "Je-ne-sais-quoi"? At least then you could pretend that you were thinking about anything other than the substantial awkwardness of the situation.

Here's something that you don't ever do. You don't ever directly face another person for no reason, even if you're looking at the wall just beside their head. Since the other person is not looking at you, they JUST MIGHT THINK that you're staring at them like a circus side show freak, and this JUST MIGHT make the elevator trip intensely more awkward than it need be. Imagine my surprise when the other guy in the elevator gets in, stands beside me, and just stares at the side of my face for 12 floors. Eventually I looked over, and for some inexplicable reason, he was scanning the completely empty wall near my head. And then, of course, he saw that I was looking at him, so he looked at me, and then we both looked away, and then he realized that I thought he was staring at me, and then he tried to be all nonchalant about it so that I would think he wasn't staring at me, but that didn't work since I already judged him to be a circus side show freak.

Well, the moral of this story is, take the stairs. You're fat, and elevators are almost as awkward as having an androgynous co-worker named Pat. And if you do take the elevator, don't be a circus side show freak and stare at the person next to you. This has been a public service announcement

Spiker