For many, anything can be an ordeal.

Anything.

Like getting up early, having dinner with parents, confronting flat mate about toilet seat or toilet paper, going to the post office, or even getting out of bed at all. The list is as endless as bollywood’s supply of overused movie formula. The greatest ordeal, however, has to be – being polite to strangers. Especially in the elevators. Do you allow yourself to breathe normally when your nose is whistling on its own?  (To spare fellow commuters the pain of nasal music.) And do you not hold your breath when there is absolute silence or to hear what the person at the other end of the phone might be telling a very unhappy looking elevator commuter? And do you not control the urge to bunning every other face that suddenly appears to be running towards you? And when your floor has arrived but there is a gigantic pool of old people stretched 100 meters long before you and the door, do you not adjust your intentions to get out on the way down?

Being polite is inflicting those elevator dilemmas on to yourself.

Well, I just can‘t be bothered to go through myriads of social inconveniences, so I take the stairs..