Gliding Box of Death

"I can't believe morning came so quickly.." says my fellow traveller. We're on our way up to the 4th floor. Two strangers, trapped in a mirrored box. We cling to our separate corners like the floor is going to fall out. My eyes follow a door, floor, wall, ceiling pattern interrupted only momentarily to present the chubby blonde woman in business casual with as much of a smile and as my morning-fuzzy brain could create. A distant smile that probably came out looking like the face a toddler makes when they are.. well, putting their diaper to use. Now, the silence in that box is excruciating enough but when a pointless morning comment is released into it, it becomes unbearably toxic. I mean come on, really? you can't believe morning came so soon? what the hell does that even mean? it comes right about the same time every day.. Anyway, regardless of the content of whats been said, you're only option is to ignore it and run the risk of being crushed to death by its expanding presence as it balloons and reaches for all sides and corners of the tight space or you can neutralize it with a counter-comment. Feeling less than brave, I chose, "It always does.." And that was that. Floor 3.. Floor 4.. Thank God. And this is the point in which I tell myself, never again.. it's healthier to take stairs anyway.. you need some exercise. One previous elevator ride that induced this vow was one in which a very large sweaty man, staring relentlessly at the ascending floor numbers and dabbing at his forehead with a hankerchief, assured himself, outloud, that there's "just one more day" (it was a friday morning). Um, awkward. You poor man, are you really that miserable? I mean, maybe I don't know what I'm talking about but that doesn't seem like a socially acceptable elevator comment. Maybe if delivered with a wink and a smile, ok, but you have to understand that, in this moment, I felt true pannick to get out of that soul-sucking, sweaty-man-box or become like the poor fellow in Fight Club, nestled between man-boobs, urging him to "just let it out". So, to avoid having a "moment" with Bob I denied my natural response: "um.. dude? you ok?", held my breath and just left his comment lingering in the air, polluting and growing the uncomfortable silence. I bolted off the elevator and took the stairs for the next week. As I started to get lazy again, I began reintroducing the gliding people-carrier into my life. The silence, the comments, the eyes glued upwards, and my daily vow of stair-loyalty.. just routine. Topics of elevator interest include and are quite limited to: the weather, thank god it's friday, how many more hours in the day, how many more days in the week, the weather or a quick "hi how are you" as long as it's not presented as an actual question. Personally I prefer the silence. So, if you're ever in the elevator with me, please, just don't bother.