Conversation: the new elevator music

It's 4:30 in the afternoon. I am standing on the ground level of Ballantine Hall waiting for an elevator. My destination is the fourth floor. But I am lazy and tired, so I am riding the elevators.\nSeven or eight people stand around, staring intently at the number strip above the elevator door. They watch it count down, and then up, and then down. Finally, a door opens. Five people walk off the elevator, eight people walk on. As the door closes, all human ability to speak is sucked out through the doors, to be left on the ground level. \nEveryone resumes his or her upward glances at the number strip, waiting for their floor to come up so they can leave this language-less void. \nWhy don't people talk to each other in elevators?\nHave you ever thought about it? \nYou see, I ride the elevators a lot. I find it's a great time killer. I love it when I can get on the elevator and ride it from the ninth floor to the bottom. I close my eyes and pretend I am on the Demon Drop at King's Island. I tried to get Elevator Piloting approved as a minor, but the College of Arts and Sciences turned me down, saying my proposed minor was not educational, relevant or useful in our world today. \nFine, COAS, you win this one. \nLast week, I was riding the elevator, and two girls got on the elevator on the first floor. They were chattering away about what pair of black pants they were going to wear that weekend and what cell phone case to put on their phone. As soon as they stepped on the "Height Metamorphosis Container," (that's what we in the "industry" call elevators) they took in a deep breath and didn't speak or move until they got off on the second floor. \nA few minutes later, I got off and waited to get on and continue observing this phenomenon. A group of professors walked up, enthusiastically discussing budget cuts in their department. As we waited, I could catch bits and pieces of what they were saying. \nProf 1: "So with these cutbacks, the departmental lunch sandwiches are now prepared on white bread instead of sourdough."\nProf 2: "I know, isn't it horrible? My department cut back so much that we have had to switch from a conveyor belt monkey to a conveyor belt gerbil that runs to power the computers and copiers. It's just not an efficient method."\nThe elevator doors opened up, and we entered the "Magical Moving Box." (Another industry term.)\nAs we were magically moved to another floor, the professors nervously glanced up and then down, but never at each other, and never acknowledged me. \nA dead silence pervaded what little fresh air there was. \nI was determined to hear some noise in that elevator. I went down to the ground floor and waited for a huge group. As we piled on, and the inevitable silence set in, I waited for my moment to pounce.\nFour floors into our journey, I spoke up: "Hey everyone, pretty smooth elevator ride we got here, right?"\nThe man in the corner looked down at his feet. One professor-looking guy looked up at the number strip, praying his was next. A group of three girls gave me that look most girls give me. The look that says, "Stay where you are, crazy guy, and no, there is no way that you and I would ever go on a date." You know that look, right?\nAt the next stop, all seven passengers got off the elevator. \nYou are probably asking yourself, "What is this guy doing on an elevator for three hours?" My answer is I was doing field research for my minor, hoping to prove to COAS it has educational promise. \nAbout an hour later, two guys got on who had been riding during the previous incident. They got on at the seventh floor. \nThey beat me up, aiming their punches at my kidneys, until we all got off the elevator at the first floor. \nWhat's the moral? \nTalk on the elevator. There is no rule saying you can't. Get on that "Movey up and down thingy" (yet another industry term) and talk it up. \nIt won't hurt you -- just my kidneys.