Today, I stood in an elevator in J. Walter Wilson for a full hour.
I have an obsession with making little experiments for myself, particularly social ones. I love them. I crave them. Last year, for the sake of The Rib, I wore a weird outfit every day for a week. I did arts and crafts in my dorm room. I played iPhone games with an injured thumb. Who can say why? Fun? That’s not it. Dedication? I mean… not really. Masochism? …Probably. Actually, yeah, that’s definitely why. I don’t know why I was unsure before.
And the world seems to have an obsession with… well… people doing weird things in elevators. It’s a whole type of play that you’re not supposed to write if you’re applying to NYU. It seems once a week, some weird kid I went to middle school with posts some iteration of that “50 weird things to do in an elevator” list on Facebook. Heck, every time you enter a crowded elevator, you feel like you’ve stepped onstage at a Stand-Up open mic. Isn’t there always one guy who tries to be funny? “Anyone else feel like a sardine? Now all we need is a can opener!”
Jeff, you kill me.
Also, I just kind of wanted to waste my time in an elevator for an hour. It was cathartic. My impending finals make me want to do things that have no real point to remind myself of the futile nature of academia, I guess. It was like my own personal version of one of those sad Facebook events your friends keep saying they’re going to.
Thus was born the elevator experiment.
And to tell you the truth? It was boring as fuck.
No one noticed me! Ever! I was there for 60 minutes, during one of the most popular class times, and you know who said a word to me? Nobody. I even caught one of my closest friends on campus heading to her fucking plant class, and tried to give her a knowing nod and wink, but all she did was smile and stick her tongue out at me, like it was NORMAL for me to be in this fucking elevator! No, Judy, it’s not normal! I’m never in this elevator at this time! Don’t you think you would have noticed me once before in the previous ten weeks of the semester?!
When we ascended to the fifth floor and I stayed on, no one turned to me with a quizzical look. They just hopped straight off. When we descended to the first floor and I stayed on, people were too busy staring at their phones to give me a second glance. Are millennials really as self-obsessed as Time Magazine proclaims?
In desperation, during the last fifteen minutes of my journey, I maneuvered myself to be right in the center of the elevator, so there was no chance of people not noticing the fact that I was remaining solidly in place. I stood there rigidly. I stared blankly ahead. And every single person just slid politely past me without a second glance. Fuck you, considerate people. Today, I needed some confrontration.
I can’t explain this behavior. Maybe people are more considerate than I thought. Maybe people are more oblivious than I thought. Maybe as soon as they left the elevator and the door closed, everyone started talking about “that weird girl” who was in there. Maybe all the people who would have said or done something just decided to take the stairs. All I know is it will be a while before I embark on one of my experiments again. It’s just too much work, too little payoff.
That being said… is anyone else curious how many times I could circle the Ratty, ostensibly looking for a table, before someone points it out?
Image via Sarah Master, Sam Saks-Fithian, and Facebook.