Elevator Etiquette

As I left the hospital today, I came to the profound realization that the process of riding the elevator at the hospital displays beautifully the streamlined efficiency of Japanese culture; I could hear bells go off in my head when, having pressed the "door close" button, the doors instantly closed. Being someone with an annoying proclivity for perspiration, I almost always take the elevator when going up. I contest any accusations of laziness with the fact that I will happily take the stairs down when it saves me time, even when I'm up on the 17th floor.

Back to buttons, if you've ever cared to notice, most American elevators seem to have a built-in timer preventing hurried riders from selfishly closing the door on everyone else. I know this because I always press the close button frantically and impatiently as soon as I get in (assuming it's empty), even if a fellow passenger is a few moments away; no, especially if he is a few moments away. Time waits for no man, so why my ride up? Should they manage to slip past the closing doors in T1000-like fashion, I simply motion apologetically towards the "door open" button, as though my good intentions had somehow been thwarted by faulty wiring.

But here in the land with an airtight social contract, there is no need for the politeness delay. So far, every time I've entered the elevator, the first person in instinctively stands in front of the buttons, holding firm the open button and politely asking his or her compatriots their destination floor as they enter. Only after everyone is inside is the close button pressed, honor preserved, harmony intact. There is even a sign outside the elevator bay depicting a stick man rushing into a closing elevator, with a giant X across it. In America we also have helpful signs of etiquette, although usually they indicate "no shirt, no shoes, no service;" or, occaisionally, that dog poop is not to be left on the sidewalk. The differences in the standards of politeness are truly amazing. Already I've learned how to say "sorry," "thank you," and "excuse me," in more ways and in more situations than I imagined possible. Even for someone as naturally apologetic as I am (I often apologize for taking up too much space, or for awkward silence, both of which are of course absurd and beget more awkward silence), I have yet to firmly grasp the nuances of these social graces.

And so it stands, a microcosm of Japanese culture, riding peacefully up from the 1st to 2nd floor, without even a whisper of annoyance.