The Elevator

Why would anyone name an elevator, an elevator when all it does is not even close to elevating your social stature, but on the contrary oft puts you in an overtly queasy predicament?! If it were I, responsible for the nomenclature, I would’ve named it the nefarious carriage – NC in short maybe.  You ask why. And here’s why.

The history, for a start. The earliest forms of an elevator, it is believed, were functional in the pre historic era. Now, that is when the cavemen employed gorillas for the purpose. There were these little (well not that little) baskets that the cavemen got woven by the cavewomen, apparently with a few unceremonious whacks on the heads (who gave and who received - we might never know) with wooden clubs. They were tied to these long, strong, prolong, furlong, ping pong,.. er.. Sorry. Got a bit lost there. I have this strange affinity to words that rhyme. Anyway. The baskets were supposedly tied to one end of these long strong ropes that were tied to a gorilla on the other end. They – the baskets, not the gorillas, were then thrown over high cliffs. The ropes were long enough for the baskets to reach the bottom of the cliff. The cavemen would then go in for a spectacular dive into the water from the high cliff. (For all that we know, this could have even been the origin of the Olympics high dive acts). After his swim, when he decides to get back home and sip some hot soup, he would jump into the basket, beat his chest – Tarzan style, and holler ‘oolay oolay ooo’. The cavewoman would consider this signal and get to luring the gorilla, with a hand of bananas, away from the cliff towards her. The gorilla would mindlessly hop towards the banana, eventually pulling the basket up, with the caveman in it. 

Despite the bumbling jolts in the basket that left the cavemen looking like an overly sized and badly mutated baby kangaroo in his mommy’s pouch, the first conception of the modern day elevators proved more often than not, effectual. However, sadly, since the gorillas discovered much more profitable employment schemes, they took to growling at the cavemen, and occasional baring of their gargantuanly browned teeth in a gesture that happened to irrevocably jeopardize the caveman-gorilla employment contracts. Thus ended the short lived genesis of the modern day elevators.

The modern day elevators as we see it, comprise of a purposefully, inconveniently, suffocatingly small cabinet that often spurns in me, unpleasant memories of having been locked inside an even more  suffocatingly small dark trunk in my childhood. (I was never really locked in such a trunk. I just fancied the idea once and it still haunts me, like it really happened. Yeah yeah. Me and my eidetic memory).  What strikes to me as the strangest is that, regardless of their physical dimensions, they always seem cramped with people standing positioned in odd directions (if you are thinking of navagraham, yup that is what it looks like). I once had the misfortune of being lodged between a very very very (trust me, very!) fat lady and a tall flustered young man reeking of Denim deodorant, stuck face front to the metallic wall at the back of the elevator, dramatically exhibiting my back to the rest of the crowd inside. I was going to pass out. I couldn’t breathe; for two reasons – one of my nostrils was jammed to the wall and the other free nostril was being royally abused by the lung-strangling odour emancipating from the guy. 

Claustrophobia is just one of the factors that bother me. Have you ever had the crunch of being in a very crowded elevator with a stranger facing you? It takes only minutes for you to get off your floor. But what do you do till then? A good notable number of times, people take to staring at the shoes of that stranger. But what if the guy facing you is really really fat and sports a huge pot for his belly? It is strongly advised that you don’t bend over and try to still look at his shoes. Oh, you could probably stare at his wristwatch, if he has one. Be warned, if the watch happens to be one of those costly ordeals, do not stare at it for more than ten seconds. You might be mistaken for a kleptomaniac. 

Well, you could always wish the person a good day. If you are having one, he would probably wish you back or at least nod in acknowledgement. On the contrary, you should also be expectant of an annoyed stare, or the worst could be a zero acknowledgement.  This again sprawls two very different probable outcomes. One - the rest of the NC mates throw a sympathetic nod; two - they give you a hard time snickering at your quandary. I have been at both ends and neither of them feels good.

Forget the ‘stranger’ part. What if you encounter that annoying bald uncle from your apartment you always try to avoid at all costs? I have one at mine. He keeps rambling nonstop about how there is no discipline in youth these days and how he was very responsible in his own youth. If I happen to see him heading to the elevator I imperceptibly sneak away from the vicinity. But that one unfortunate day I am talking about, I was already in the elevator. Only then did I happen to see him running to the elevator. I panicked. Instead of pressing the [>|<] button that closes the elevator, I pressed on the [<|>] button, creating an impression in him that I am holding the elevator open for him. I’ve never abused myself so badly as I did then. He came in panting, flaunting his sweaty bald head and thanked me and without so much as a breath, started twaddling about how very different I was from youth these days and how responsible I had become, what with all the advice he had bestowed upon me. The hellish 40 seconds came to an end and I got off at my floor. "Why blood? Same blood." 

With all the humiliations, suffocation, torment and tumult, not to forget, the dizzy spells when the elevator hits a floor to halt, my mind simply doesn’t permit me to address the elevator as the Elevator. Hence the NC, you see!

P.S. : Thanks to Google for the images :)