For some people, they snap out of their morning commute mentality as soon as they reach the parking garage or the bus stop. Once they have their feet on the ground, they take a deep breath, stretch, and release the stress caused by sitting in traffic or being cut off or listening to two fellow passengers act out the following scene...

(Ermalinda, an old woman wearing thick glasses, a floral patterned dress and three sweaters, sits on one of the benches, near the front of the bus, reserved for the elderly or disabled. Roberto, a young man wearing baggy pants, a red hoodie, and a camouflaged jacket, sits in the reserved bench across from her; his only obvious disabilities being a permanent slouch and a bad case of facial hair.)

Ermalinda: Do you have a watch?
Roberto: Huh?
Ermalinda: A watch.
Roberto: A watch?
Ermalinda: Yes.
Roberto: No.
Ermalinda: Oh.
Roberto: -
Ermalinda: Do you know what time it is?
Roberto: Uh, no, but I think it shows it up there.

(He points at the electronic sign hanging above them and scrolling the name of the next stop, the date, and the time in bright red text. They both look at the time (7:11 AM) as it scrolls across the screen.)

Ermalinda: I can't see so well. What did it say?
Roberto: Huh?
Ermalinda: The sign. What time did it say?
Roberto: Oh, 7:18.
Ermalinda: Are you sure?
Roberto: Uh, yeah, no, wait...

(They wait in silence as the sign cycles through and shows the time again.)

Roberto: (laughs with embarrassment) I'm sorry. I misread it.
Ermalinda: Ah.
Roberto: It's 7:15.

For other people, they don't snap out of that negative commute-induced state of mind until they're firmly planted at their desks. They're the ones you see charging down the sidewalk or down the parking garage stairs with determination. They're the ones who look like they wouldn't hesitate to mow you down if you had the misfortune of walking in front of them. They're very much like the man I shared the elevator with this morning.

Five of us entered the elevator. He was the first one in and the first to press the button for his floor - one of the upper ones. While the rest of us were still selecting our floors, he was already pressing the button to close the doors.

The elevator car started moving. I noticed immediately that I would be the fourth stop and he would be the fifth and final. It would have been nice if it had been the other way around.

As soon as the doors opened for the first person and she stepped out, he pushed the close button and dropped his hand to his side. He did the same thing for the second person, but after the third person, he kept his finger hovering over the panel.

I couldn't help but think that if it were possible, he would have kept the doors closed until we reached his floor. As it was, I was growing nervous that he would push the button before I had a chance to exit the lift. A scene from an old James Bond movie (Timothy Dalton as 007) flickered in my mind - the scene where a poor fellow was killed by sliding doors rigged to slice victims in half when they shut.

Luckily, I escaped from the elevator unscathed and intact. I think the only thing that saved me was the fact that I had inched my way to the front of the car as it approached my floor and then had dived headfirst through the opening as the doors parted. Upon reflection, I probably overreacted, but in the moment, it seemed like the only practical way out.

It was only after I had picked myself up off the floor and had taken a few deep breaths to lower my heart rate that the stress once again dissipated and I regained my previous positive frame of mind.

Since I doubt Mr. Button-Pusher will ever experience an epiphany and leave his morning commute mentality in his car, I can only hope to never have to share another elevator with him again.