Apparently there is such a thing as lift etiquette. For example, if you are just getting into one and see someone approaching from the corner of your eye, it is your bounden duty to wait for the person and grant him or her entry.

However, what gets my goat is groups who expect you to wait for a friend who hasn’t shown up yet. Eventually, after a long pause and no sign of the latecomer, they will tell you to go ahead while they wait. Why couldn’t they have made that decision a little earlier?

Another unwritten rule is to avoid eye contact unless of course you know the person. So, you stare at the wall or look in the mirror without making it obvious that you are checking out your hair. There are a few who have a Pavlovian response to a looking glass. Out comes the comb or fingers to run through the hair.

Sometimes, you forget the unwritten rule and your gaze inadvertently shifts to a face and as suddenly slides back to contemplation of the door or footwear of fellow passengers. Finding that there is nothing really to engage your attention, your glance collides with that of another. Your study of psychology brings to mind terms such as interpersonal proximity and its effects. But in simple terms, all you know is that it makes you feel slightly embarrassed. Being caught looking at someone else seems like an invasion of privacy. But what does one do when that face is too close for comfort?

Sometimes I suffer from amnesia when I enter these confined places. The door closes and I presume I have pressed the right button. After a while, I wonder why I haven’t reached my destination only to find that I am still on ground zero. Hastily jabbing the right button, I am relieved there is no one else there to witness my discomfort.

There is also the ignominy of getting off on the wrong floor just because everyone else is streaming out. This herd instinct can make you feel foolish as you slowly retreat and make your way back only to find the lift has left without you. As you wait there, you are bound to meet someone coming down and there are questions asked such as ‘what are you doing on this floor?’ You mumble an answer and get inside again. This time you make sure you get off at the right stop.

Have you noticed that whenever you are in a particular hurry, the lift seems to have disappeared. You keep jabbing the button impatiently as if that will make it appear sooner. Just as you contemplate taking the stairs and begin muttering under your breath about inconsiderate people who monopolise the lift, the lights come on and it appears. Breathing a sigh of relief at not having to exert yourself, you suddenly notice that it is full. Your joy is short-lived.

But, determined as you are, you squeeze in. The others make way reluctantly and you can almost hear their disapproval. Being thick-skinned helps. Ignoring the others, you stand your ground and try not to step on someone’s toes as you shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. The experience is the ultimate invasion of personal space but you have no choice. Somehow the ride seems longer than usual and, when the door opens next, you are desperate to get out, but realise you still have a few floors to go.

If, after reading this piece, you hesitate before a lift, I suggest taking the stairs instead. It is good for the health of your heart and guaranteed to help you avoid close encounters of the uncomfortable kind.