WHAT IS UP WITH ELEVATORS, OMFG

This sounds like the beginning of a really bad stand-up performance. I don’t care. I need to know what’s up with elevators. In all my 20 years of living on this planet Earth, I find that people exhibit one of three traits when on an elevator. The traits go as follows:

  1. Stupid drunk
  2. Stupid awkward
  3. Sexually aroused.

You can argue this with me until you are blue in the face. No one in the history of humanity has ever exhibited any other traits than these three while riding an elevator. As a college student living on the ninth floor of a densely populated building, I’ve experienced many an elevator ride. I’ve even written a sketch about a hypothetical game show entitled “Beer or Urine” that takes place on an elevator (to debut during the next Nevergreen Sketch Comedy show). That is how fascinated I am with these mechanisms.

I’m writing this because something needs to be done. Scientists, enough trying to cure terminal illnesses. Put down your pens and start studying humans on elevators, please! (No I’m seriously kidding, don’t ever stop curing illnesses. I’m not quite sure why scientists would be using pens to treat illnesses either). I think there is something to be said about people on elevators, however. Why does every drunken college student need to puke/pee/defecate/spit/leak fluids all over them? Is there a magnetic pull that beckons to drunken people only? Does it make them feel compelled to expel all fluid from their body and the surrounding area? I don’t get it. Frankly, it freaks me out. Sure, there may be the occasional sober person that pees themselves on an elevator. But that’s probably because the god-forsaken death trap broke down and they were forced to resort to animalistic behavior.

Awkwardness is another trait that plagues the elevator patron. What is it about elevators that make me forget all the words in my brain? I’m pretty sure I once whimpered at someone who said hello to me because I knew I had to be trapped with them for the next nine floors in a shiny, silver coffin. I’m also super bad with elevator etiquette. Nine times out of ten I panic and push the “close door” button when there is someone obviously trying to get to the elevator in time.

I frantically mash the button until the door closes in their face. I’m sorry, I really am. It’s simply too awkward for me.

Possibly the freakiest of all traits exhibited on elevators would be sexual arousal. I don’t have much experience with this because I only ever wear penguin pajamas and slippers when riding elevators. But, rest assured, those drunken, bodily fluid seeping maniacs when shoved together in an elevator will likely fornicate in some way. It’s nasty. It’s definitely happened. There’s pretty much no way it hasn’t. This needs to end. Can we all wear some kind of rubber bracelet to raise money for elevator studies that says something catchy like “Halt elevator fornicating”? That’s not exactly catchy but you get the point.

With my return to school tomorrow, I am going to try my best to ride the elevator like a normal, non-anxious patron. It won’t be easy with the flood of inappropriate images I associate with elevators dancing around my head. No matter how many snarky tweets I make to address this issue, it perpetuates. Stop the madness people. Stop the elevators. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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