This is one of the rudest things you can do, and most of us do it

I am not a fan of the lift but there are certain rules that make riding in them just about tolerable

I am not a fan of the lift. Apart from the whole “What if the doors don’t open?” scenario which flashes through my mind every time I arrive at my desired floor, there’s also the “What if we all plummet to our deaths?” question.

Then there’s the “If we were trapped in here, could I crawl through that
escape hatch like Bruce Willis’s John McClane in Die Hard?” musing.

I could not, by the way.

But for most of us, by far the most terrifying aspect of taking the lift is, of course, the other people in it.

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Some of them even want to converse, even though the rules of this sort of travel are quite clear: do not speak unless spoken to and firmly fix the eye to the numbers above the door. It’s a very simple and time-honoured way of making what is the landlocked equivalent of being stuck at a boat party bearable.

Last week, however, I broke both of them. I had just got in the lift at my local shopping centre, and was ecstatic to find I was the only person in it. (Look, I am a suburban mother; I take my thrills where I can get them.) Then, just as the doors were almost closed, I saw two elderly women approaching.

Now, I cannot lie, I was tired, and was going to pretend I couldn’t reach the “doors open” button in time, and dramatically mouth “I’m sorry” at them – oh, don’t pretend you’ve never done it – when one of them shot out her walking stick and waved it around between the closing doors.

Frances Whiting. Picture: David Kelly

It was one of those canes with a four-pronged base, and proved remarkably effective. The doors opened, and in they came, along with a younger woman who snuck in behind them.

The two older women looked so delighted with themselves that I said – gesturing to her walking stick – “That came in handy!”. And she said, “Yes, it did – usually I just use it to shoo away all the men.”

There was a slight pause, and then her friend said, “They’re all over you like a rash, aren’t they, Daphne?” And we all laughed. A really good laugh. A belly laugh. One that went all the way to the basement, where we all alighted. Together. Still giggling.

Then the younger woman said, “Good luck out there, Daphne.” And Daphne lifted her stick and waved it about theatrically, and we all laughed some more.

We went our separate ways, calling out “have a good weekend” to each other, like old friends. Because we were.

Because in that lift, a young woman, a middle-aged woman and two older women shared a belly laugh that traversed the years between us, and shooed away convention like Daphne’s walking stick.

It was a laugh shared between four women who will most likely never see each other again but, Daphne, if you’re reading this, then thank you for the laugh, the smile on my face all the way home, and the reminder that our commonalities are always greater than our differences.

And if you are ever stuck in a lift, I will absolutely go full John McClane for you.