One of our favourite pastimes when we were visiting relatives as kids was to ride the elevator to the topmost floor, ring a random neighbour's doorbell, scamper back into the elevator and press the round, black 'G' button. This was particularly enjoyable for two reasons — it seemed to be fun to jolt someone out of their activity and bring them to the door for no reason, but more so, it offered us the thrill of riding the elevator up and down since our building, all of two storeys, was built sans the pulley-based contraption.

Irate neighbours and family adults would tell us off for our lack of manners, and drill the significance of elevator etiquette — handy lessons given that elevators are now ubiquitous. I suppose it's karmic payback then when groups of colleagues bring their conversations into the elevator, alienating other riders with their private banter and giggles. It's also perplexing when you find colleagues enter the elevator and see right through you. Granted that while many just adopt the face-up-look-straight policy, it wouldn't hurt to smile or acknowledge the presence of a person with whom you share floor space for eight hours every day. What makes this lot worse is when they see you acknowledge them, they avert your gaze to look at their feet or stare at the screen announcing the approaching floor number. On the other extreme are the elevator riders who stare — the kinds who rise up the creepiness index, perhaps as a result of their frozen eyeball syndrome.

Friends also point to another annoying habit — taking the elevator to go up or down just a flight or two. "Why can't they simply take the stairs instead of delaying the rest of us making our way to the 17th floor," they fume. Equally pesky are the riders who stand right in the middle of the elevator even if there's plenty of space to move to the sides. I suppose they are the stars of the galaxy around whom the rest of us lesser mortals must revolve. But nothing is more vexing then having to play dodge-ball with a rider who steps in carrying multiple bags. Must one be mindful of the bulging backpack jabbing one in the chest, or the sling bag slung sideways or the lunch pack bag swinging from their elbow downwards? As for those who come in with dripping umbrellas, I know it's sweet revenge for my seven-year-old self.