No Time For Politeness
I live in an 18-story apartment building and we have the usual elevator problems, mainly because one has to wait one’s turn to get in the car going up or down. Actually, I could walk the stairs, it would not take long, but the stairway is out of service — rather out of use. You don’t understand, I am sure. Let me explain. The young tenants have long adopted it as a round the clock toilet and graffiti gallery. Whoever ventures a trip up the stairs will have to jump into their apartment, out of their clothes and into the shower to get rid of the dirt and odor. Thus, more often than not you just wait for the elevator the way we all wait on platforms for commuter trains.
Waiting time has an advantage, though. You can watch people living in the same building or next door. Most have spent quite a number of years here. You meet with them by the elevator, in the yard, or when having to use the stairs if the elevator is temporarily (and rather often) out of order. Despite the fact that you have met for years, saying hello is an exception rather than rule. Imagine: the elevator stops on one of the floors, a man steps in and, on seeing people living a couple of floors up, ones he has met countless times previously, says nothing, staring through them. And even if he says hello in most cases those in the car will remain silent.
Nor do we have the habit of waiting in the elevator car for other passengers. I also suspect that some do it for fun. Often you walk toward the door of the house and there is someone walking a couple of steps ahead. Then you see that person quickly cover the distance to the elevator, press the button, step in, press another button and the car is on its way up just as you reach the elevator. Of course, you can shove a foot between the elevator doors. If you succeed and get in the car no one is going to say sorry, that they did not notice you. Just a cold stare with a hint of disappointment at having failed to get the better of you and now having to share your unwelcome company, if even for a couple of minutes.
I remember my first business trip to Germany. The place was somewhere near Frankfurt am Main. I arrived at night but got up early in the morning and went for a walk; I was eager to explore the place. I found myself in a big city suburb, with standard two- story cottages. It was winter, cold, and everything seemed gray. People were hurrying past the house I not lived in to catch their commuter trains. Fog had descended, and figures would now and then emerge from it like ghosts, except that every ghost, young or old, would have a voice saying Guten morgen! I am still ashamed at remaining automatically silent when first addressed that way — I simply could not imagine that a perfect stranger would say good morning!
I also remember leaving Frankfurt. I boarded the same commuter train. It was late in the evening, actually night, outside it was pitched dark and when I stepped into the car there was only one other passenger inside, a middle-aged woman sitting at the opposite end. The train stopped for only a couple of seconds where I had to get off. And then I discovered that I did not know how to open the door. I was too embarrassed to ask the woman and time was running short. Fortunately, the old lady understood and limped over (something wrong with her leg). She was gasping for breath by the time she reached me, she was so eager to help! She did, God bless her! And I didn’t have a single pfennig for the train back; it was too late and I was afraid to go at night.
One might object that with Germans it is just a habit; they do it automatically. Maybe, but I like such automatic response much better than our inborn habit never to say hello to the people living next door or getting in the elevator car ahead of them and shutting the doors in their face. On such numerous occasions I am reminded of all those propaganda clichОs about man being a wolf to other men (homo homini lupus est) in the capitalist world, about that “moth-eaten and hypocritical Western civilization” or “excessive material prosperity killing spirituality.”
I am inclined to believe that there is a definite connection between our stinking stairway and the “civilized” manner of the tenants, except I am not sure what is the cause and consequence: our way of life or our mentality?
