Personal space invaders

I HAVE a problem with lifts. They need to be designed to take into account modern concepts of etiquette.

Illustration: Sturt Krygsman

I HAVE a problem with lifts. They need to be designed to take into account modern concepts of etiquette.

Take, for example, my first visit to Perth in the mid-1990s. I arrived late in the day and made my way to the Hyatt Hotel on St George's Terrace.

I checked in and walked to an empty lift to go to my room on level five. At the first level a local man got in. (I deduced that he was a local because of his R.M. Williams riding boots.)

As is the custom in Melbourne I stepped to one side to allow my co-passenger to take up an equal amount of space in his half of the lift.

But he didn't move from a centre-of-the-lift position. Not only that but he also didn't turn and face the lift door.

This ... this ... lift anarchist stood his ground slap-bang in the centre of the lift and therefore right on the edge of the territory known as My Half of the Lift.

But that's not all. Then do you know what he did? He faced me and he looked at me. Oh yes he did. Two men in a lift and this ... this ... god-knows-what faced me. He must have had his face less than a metre from mine. Can you believe it?

As this was a lift and as I am a male I did what all males do in these situations: I bowed my head, stared at the ground and ignored him. But it was no good; I could feel him looking at me. I thought something might be wrong and so I looked up.

And as soon as I glanced in his direction do you know what this this West Australian did? He locked eye contact with me. Oh yes he did. And this was no accidental bloke-sort-of-looking-at-another-bloke kind of glance: this was a full-on, full-frontal eyeball-to-eyeball sort of look. I think we all know exactly what I mean. Oh yes you do.

But, wait, it gets worse. In the middle of this wilful and clearly wanton eye contact, do you know what this this stranger did? That's right, he smiled. And as he smiled he said something. To me. That's right. Two unintroduced men locked in a confined space actually conversing.

Or at least I know that a full-on conversation was what he had on his mind. Do you know what this this lift conversationalist said to me? He said: "G'day." Can you imagine? G'day. What could I do but mumble "G'day" back while looking at the floor.

Beads of sweat materialised on my forehead. I was surely just seconds from being assaulted in a Perth lift. As a precautionary defence I manoeuvred myself into the corner of the lift. He could have the whole of "my lift territory" as far as I was concerned.

And then something extraordinary happened: the lift stopped at the third level and another man got in. Three men in a lift with one of them a known chatter and eye-contact-maker.

What do you suppose happened next? The first man turned to the second man and said: "G'day." The second man smiled and replied to the first man: "G'day."

I immediately realised that I was not going to be assaulted in a Perth lift. These fellas were just being Perth friendly. That's what you do in Perth. Blokes speak to other blokes in lifts. Blokes even look at other blokes in Perth lifts. And it doesn't mean anything other than g'day.

In an instant I was exposed as an uptight eastern-stater.

Those radical Perthlings do not acknowledge Melbourne lift etiquette where no one talks to strangers in lifts; where lifts have a cathedral-like reverence about them. There is no idle chatter between strangers in Melbourne lifts. There is no wilful eye-contact-making in Melbourne lifts. Thou shalt turn and face the door in Melbourne lifts. I'd like to see clearly marked person-spaces in lifts as for cars in carparks. And on these spaces could be painted shoe silhouettes that face the door. That way each new lift person could be positioned an equal distance apart and they would be conveniently pointed in the lift-door direction.

And Perthlings, if you don't mind as a sop to out-of-staters, no more chatting or eye contact in lifts: it sends mixed messages to paranoid visitors from the east.

KPMG Partner Bernard Salt's new book is The Big Tilt.

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