Elevators are strange places. I've realized this increasingly during my last few months in the city, as I take an elevator a minimum of five times a day. I consider myself something of an elevator expert and therefore feel qualified to expound upon the strange behaviors that occur during these awkward rides. I'll limit myself to the science of catching an elevator, however, and save the rest for another day.
It seems unavoidable that the elevator doors start to close just as you reach the elevator, inspiring a dilemma. You can either hurl yourself dramatically at the doors, hoping to stop their inevitable path, and look decidedly inelegant and desperate, but avoid the wait for the next elevator to make its appearance. Or you can retain your composure and wait, angrily, for the next. Of course, if you do that, the next elevator will take upwards of 2 minutes, which feels like 20, and hence increase your anger over the missed first opportunity. It's a classic Catch-22 and one that I and it seems every other elevator passenger that I've observed face every day.
Sometimes, however, the burden of holding the elevator seems to fall on the occupants inside. It is these thorny situations that evoke the most hostility. If the current residents of the elevator fail to hold the elevator, those trying frantically to make it before the doors close can be heard sighing loudly with expressions of severe dismay appearing in the crack just as the doors rumble shut. It seems to conjure up memories of being picked last for dodgeball – you know they heard you, saw you, yet, why didn't they want you? It seems like a personal insult, yet, the furthest thing from. If the occupants of the elevator hold the elevator, however, it's like a lottery win – at least the scratch-off kind.
