Elevator chivalry is by far and away the worst brand of chivalry because I am standing behind you and these doors are only going to be open so long so how the fuck am I supposed to intuit that you’re waiting for me to pivot around you like a March Madness pointguard in order to exit this tiny space we’re both planning on exiting anyway?
It happens so often — an officedude getting scoffy or feeling snubbed because I didn’t adequately celebrate or acknowledge his elevator manners — but it’s only because I never notice when it’s happening. And by the time I pick up on what he’s standing there waiting for me to participate in, I’m so frustrated and startled that I just speed away into the lobby like a Sim.
Whatever they think they’re doing is wasted on me, for sure, but more importantly, I don’t know how to notice this move when it’s live. Am I just supposed to stand here reading the back of your head like tea leaves? Look up from my phone and squint at your hands lest they gesture in a way that might indicate what I’m supposed to do?
As a rule just walk out of an elevator like boobs and dongs don’t exist. I’m back here breathing into a paper bag about it.
Elevator ethics. It’s a thing.
This comment brought to you by the 199th conversation about elevator ethics I’ve had this year.
