Know Thy Co-Passengers

I always love it when I embark on a voyage on a moving vertical coffin we call “elevator” or “lift.” Every journey provides me with a wide gamut of acquaintance about the people that exist around me. Never mind the screaming bunch of brats thrashing around as if possessed by some malignant spirit. Never mind the mp3 players being in full blast playing the rusty “Iyugyog Mo.” Reminds me of faraway places where the entire population put Willie Revillame icons on their altars. And never mind the times when you had to be trapped inside the elevator for minutes with the lights off and your breathing as the only audible sound (aside from the unknown shrieking of course).

For years I should say that the religious rides to such escapades have me trying to figure out how to categorize the souls I’ve encountered while the sometimes squeaky lifts are moving. Eureka! Here’s my list:

The Confused. They step in, get out, try to step back in, and then wave you away as they’re still ambivalent. Probably in two minds if they’d take the stairs instead.

The MRT Commuters. The elevator’s chock-full already and the door’s closing in but they’re still gonna force themselves in. They’ll be late for work, don’t blame them. It’s something they’re used to doing during the MRT peak hour rides, you see. Some habits are just too hard to break. Tsk tsk.

The Elevator Operators. For some mysterious inexplicable reason, they position themselves nearest to the elevator buttons. A mystery that can seem to interest the 221B Baker Street detective resident. We can’t be so certain but one thing’s for sure; they’re doing everyone a favor by closing and opening the door for them. “28th Floor please!”

The Joy Riders. They are those applicants that are supposed to go to the 25th floor but instead land at the 28th. They can be also those that would be too anxious to smoke down the 8th floor to the point of forgetting to press their floor number. Too bad the Elevator Operators aren’t there for them. Some are en route the 24th floor but are passing by the 37th floor first deliberately.

The Barkers. You would wanna zip their mouths coz hearing them talk is like hearing a radical leading a protest endless in his discourse. Take heed coz a simple “hi” can incite a forcibly engaging one-way tête-à-tête you wouldn’t wanna be in. You need not be in the loop for the latest national bad news as you would hear them whining about it at the top of their lungs anyway.

The Bombers. Why can’t they just hold it for a little longer? These elevator bombers shouldn't be allowed to breed. They should be out of the gene pool. Now! All the provisions of the Clean Air Act need to be enforced wherever and whenever. Bombers, we don’t need to know that you had J-Bee’s longganisa for lunch. Yes. We can tell!

The Descendants of Narcissus. They hate it if something or somebody comes in their way obstructing the sight of the reflection of their full glory. The camera? They couldn’t care less. Oh, they know which side of the door reflects the slimmer you. You’re lucky if you get to see them doing the quarter turns. That’s what they’re best known for yet they rarely demonstrate that.

Take time to know who you’re riding with. It’ll sway you off the thoughts of a specter that according to urban legends can be joining you on your way up or down. Reminds me of an incident while alone inside the elevator when I saw a headless corpse standing beside me in the reflection. Just thought it’ll make your boring lonesome rides more exciting. Peace!

© 2007 Jonathan Susvilla