Fun in Lifts

When you add together the amount of time I spend in trains getting to and from work and the amount of time I spend in lifts going from the ground floor of my building to level 60 where I'm shackled to the wall during office hours I seem to spend half my life being hauled around in rectangular metal boxes.

Of the two I prefer the train because it has seats.  It also takes marginally less time for a train to travel from Dulwich Hill to the City than it does for a lift to travel from the ground to level 60 particularly when it feels the need to stop at every floor along the way.  I find that greeting everyone who gets on the lift with a big cheery smile makes the journey more enjoyable.

This is because, without exception, the reaction of everybody who gets into a lift to encounter someone grinning like a loon is to recoil slightly, flick their eyes about in silent desperation and then to occupy a space as far away from me as possible.  Occasionally I like to stand right at the lift doors in the pose of a grizzly bear about to attack and make growling noises when the doors open.  So far no one has shot me although I suspect its been close on a couple of occasions.

The thing is, lift journeys take up a considerable amount of my day.  It does seem as though I should do something with the time expended rather than just stand there.  It's ok on the train, I can read, play on my phone or use any of the other tools modern society has created to prevent interaction with one's fellow human beings.  In a lift it's different.  Apart from the use of headphones there isn't really a lot you can do to ignore your fellow metal box inmates and its difficult to pretend not to see someone standing approximately three inches away from you.

So if one can't ignore one's fellow humans the only remaining option is to interact with them.  And what better way to interact than with a big friendly grin or a slightly too enthusiastic grizzly bear impersonation?  Another thing I enjoy doing is suddenly bursting into laughter for no apparent reason (but not the cheerful hearty laughter that would suggest remembering a good joke, rather the low devious chuckle which implies one is recalling an undeserved not guilty verdict). 

Our lifts have mirrors at the back which allows people to spend a few seconds touching up their appearance and provides them with an excuse for not making eye contact with anyone else in the lift.  This is acceptable if a little predictable but I'll bet I'm the only person who's thought to use that mirror for shaving.  All of these little touches provide me with some innocent amusement (and allow me to get up five minutes later) and most importantly creep people out and make them less likely to interact with their fellow human beings (of which I, at a stretch, can be considered to be one).

A lack of interaction with one's fellow human beings is a vital social tool which allows large numbers of people who, at best, cordially detest each other to live in close proximity.  Inhabitants of small country towns tend to boast of their friendliness, particularly by comparison with the sullen, surly city (neat alliteration huh?) in which I live but they miss the point.  Small country towns tend to be racially and culturally homogenous to a great extent.  When people say their town is friendly what they mean is, their town is friendly towards straight, white people who were born there.  I live in a city where, with the best will in the world, you can't know what all the other inhabitants are doing and can't reassure yourself that they worship an appropriate god, date the appropriate gender or have the appropriate skin tone.  A carefully cultivated disinterest allows us to put up with all of these freaks and more importantly allows them to put up with me.  Shaving in a lift is a small price to pay to perpetuate this state of affairs.