What seems like an electrically-propelled box that goes up and down tens of times every day carrying goods and beings to the their destinations is far more than that. With each lift, elevators are also daily carriers of our emotional roller coaster vis-à-vis people we meet  in a tiny closed box, from the minute we enter it:

1- I’m reaching to the elevators. I hope it’s on my level, and no one is sharing it with me.

2- Oups, there they are. The regular intruders. Should I ask to which floor they’re going and help them click the button, or just let them do it. They’re strangers, and me being friendly might look so obnoxious.

3- Shall I look at them and smile, since we always bump into each other in the same elevator, or shall I keep my head down stealing looks at their toes out of those sandals.

4- I’ll keep looking down at my phone until I reach my floor. That’s the best way to look so busy and avoid a human being I have absolutely no relation to. The ride is too short anyway to initiate a meaningful conversation.

5- I wish this stupid elevator could just go faster. Fine, I’ll look at the ceiling, count the floors on the electronic board as we pass them by, fix my hair on the mirror; but never into the eyes of that stranger. Till now I still don’t know how their face looks like.

6- I really wonder if they will check me out as I walk away.

7- Finally, I reached. That was the longest one minute of my life. Why can’t we just use the elevators solo.

And as you walk away, you wonder what would have happened in a parallel universe if you had spoken to that stranger.