I am in a metal box, roughly five feet by four feet by seven feet. Some may call it an elevator, but to me, it’s a trap. Even though I am only here for 90 seconds, my mind races through an endless stream of thoughts — what I will wear tomorrow, what assignments are due this week, what I will eat tonight and the list goes on and on. In this moment, I feel confined, cornered not just by the space but by the swirl of my thoughts.
Then suddenly my worst nightmare occurs: a stranger steps in.
What should I do? Should I start a conversation, or pretend they don’t exist, as if I’m the only one in this box? I begin to play out different scenarios in my head. What approach should I take? How should I act?
Option one: Pretend to be absorbed in my phone.
I scroll through emails from a month ago, desperately searching for something to latch onto. I flip to the weather app, tapping aimlessly, checking the forecast for Paris and feeling even worse about the dreary weather in St. Louis. I click over to Instagram, scrolling through the stories of people I do not know, trying to look busy and productive. I’m not really engaged with any of it — I’m just passing through the feed, pretending that this virtual world is enough to mask the awkward silence of the real one. It is a thin barrier, but for now, it is enough. Anything to avoid the tension of being in a confined space with a stranger, both of us pretending we are somewhere else.
It’s awkward because what can one do in an elevator for 90 seconds? The space is too small for anything meaningful to happen, yet too long for total silence to feel natural. You can’t exactly pull out a book or start a conversation about something deep. The walls are too close, the air is too still. The time stretches on, and you are left with nothing but a constant ticking of seconds.
Option two: Engage with my surroundings.
I shift my gaze, letting it wander around the elevator. I watch the reflections of the lights dance against the metal walls. I study the buttons, counting the floors, wondering if there is a thirteenth floor. Then I look down at my shoes, noting the scuff marks and dirt buildup. Should I clean them tonight or will they just get dirty again the next day? My eyes flicker to the stranger, but I make sure to glance only for a second at a time.
I take in their outfit — maybe they just came from practice, or perhaps the library, with a backpack and headphones. It’s a quick thought, just a fleeting curiosity about who they are and where they are headed. In these brief moments, we build stories about strangers, imagining their lives based on small details: their posture, their clothes, the way they hold themselves. I wonder if they are doing the same with me. We don’t speak, but for a few seconds, our worlds intersect, silently, as we share this small space.
Option Three: Strike up a conversation
Taking a deep breath, I decide to break the silence. “So, what floor are you headed to?” I ask, trying to sound casual. The stranger glances over, a hint of surprise in their eyes, but then they smile. “The fifth, how about you?” I nod, feeling the tension in the air shift. We chatted about the weather and our plans for the day. We talked about how we got stuck with the worst housing on Saint Louis University’s campus, and how we dreaded the long walk from our classes to our dorm building.
Even though it was small talk, the awkwardness had subsided. Suddenly, the metal box does not feel so confining; it becomes a shared space. The metal box, once a cold, impersonal enclosure, became something less isolated. It was no longer just my space, it was now our space, for a few seconds, connected by the simple act of conversation.
After playing out all the options in my head I knew what I had to choose: option three.
We often think that talking to a stranger requires boldness or effort, but in reality, most of us are just looking for a small connection. In a world that values independence, it is easy to forget how simple interactions — like a few words in an elevator — can feel unexpectedly warm. It does not take much to break the ice: a question, a smile or a casual observation. And just like that, the barrier between two strangers fades, even if only for a moment.