The Awkward Moment When You Are Outsmarted By an Elementary School Student

Photo Creds to http://webtrends.about.com/od/profile1/tp/Rage-Faces-Internet-Meme-Faces-And-Funny-Memes.htm

   

    It’s ironic. You wait all of your elementary and middle-school life to become a teenager and be “cool” and then the moment you get to high school, you realize that you’re back to the beginning again.

            I didn’t really know that I would be volunteering at the elementary school fun fair this Saturday. But my mother did, and that is how I ended up sitting at the cakewalk station, playing and pausing “Domino,” calling out the names of animals, and handing children (who dressed better than me) some random cakes.

            But there was this one kid who had a lot of tickets but really didn’t want to spend them.

            “Hi,” he said to me in the middle of one round.

            “Hi, can I help you?”

            “Yeah, you can.”

            “Alright then. Name it, kid.”

            “I want a cake.”

            “Well, if you want one guaranteed for four bucks, there’s a bake sale in the gym, but if you want a 1 in 10 chance of winning one for four tickets, I suggest you play this game.”

            “What if I just want one for free?”

            “Maybe your mother can get you one. I’m just the cake walk music player.”

            The boy seemed to ponder that for a little bit, and slump against the wall next to me, as if pouting. He stayed like this for about five rounds and watched each time as the same kids seemed to win. Don’t ask me why, but this girl in a plaid shirt always seemed to be on the right animal card at the right time.

            “Why does she always win?” he snapped after the plaid-shirt girl won her fifth cake.

            “I’m not sure, it’s not like I rig the cards or anything.”

            “Well then, let me pick the next card.”

            “Feel free.”

            So he picked the card. And it was the same card that plaid-shirt girl was on.

            At this point, he was totally convinced that the girl had the rigged the cards.

            “She shouldn’t be allowed to play this game,” he finally said.

            “Sorry, this isn’t Vegas. I can’t kick her out because she’s crazy lucky a lot.”

            “Vegas?”

            “Nevermind.”

            After about an hour, the kid was long gone, I was running low on cakes, partly because plaid-shirt girl had won about half of them, so I put the game on hold and went to go get some more cakes.

            I came back literally 2 minutes later and I was missing two cakes. I didn’t really think much of it, and continued running the game.

            Thirty minutes later, my shift was done and I started walking towards the exit.

            And who do I see sitting at the door, eating the two cakes that had gone missing?

            The kid.

            I was just outsmarted by a child.

The Awkward Moment When You Spend More Time Researching “How To Write an Essay” Than Actually Writing It

Photo Cred to http://forninepounds.blogspot.com/2007_09_01_archive.html

    

      I have never been a natural writer. When I write, Shakespeare weeps, as if thinking, “How can I have the same birthday as this pathetic young lad?” Of course, he’d say that sentence in his confusing way, but ask me to translate that for you—it’d be a disaster.

            Because of this handicap, I usually end up taking longer than everybody else to write simple paragraphs.

            For example, a week ago, an essay was due for my English class. It was a pain and I actually was up until 1 am editing to make sure there was absolutely nothing that my teacher could take off points from.

            And then it hit me. 

            We were supposed to write an expository essay.

            And I actually had no idea what an expository essay was.

            Yes, this is what happens when you are up at 1 am proofreading your essay that is due in 6 hours.

            So I researched what an expository essay was and realized that I had written my essay… in the form of a narrative.

            Really, Sarah Cruz? A narrative? Come on, you could have made it a little bit easier, but no, you had to put your voice in the writing as well as some pointless anecdotes that your English teacher has no intentions of giving you points for.

            At this point in time, it was about 1:45 am and I was blindly looking for a 5-hour energy in my kitchen, only to realize that this was a house with four children and that the closest thing I would find to 5-hour energy was some tea in the cabinet.

            Total let down, but I took what I could get. I chugged down 2 mug-fulls of green tea and the burning of the hot water definitely woke me up.

            And I wrote that expository essay.

            In fact, I wrote 4 drafts in one hour, and had never felt so utterly accomplished. At 3 am, I did a final check-over, printed all 4 drafts and the final draft, stapled them together and passed out on my desk.

            At 6:45 am, my alarm clock rang and after muttering some nonsense and about 6 of the 7 swear words in one breath, I got up and went to school.

            I turned my essay in that day.

            My English teacher told me to rip off all the other drafts I had made. She only wanted the final draft.

            I have never wanted to yell at a teacher as much as I did at that moment. I should said something super dramatic like, “I put my sweat and tears… and blood… and chugged two hot mugs of tea at 2 in the morning for those four drafts and you only want my final draft?!”

            But I didn’t. Because I consider myself someone with a little bit of common sense.

            Lesson learned: Don’t bother proofreading your essays at 1 am. Just turn the one you have in.

            And that’s the story of my horrible writing day. I’m still waiting on that essay to be graded. I’m going for maybe… a C? Tops, definitely a C.

            Sometimes I really wonder why I joined the newspaper at my school.

The Awkward Moment When You Try To Make Friends

Photo Creds to http://cheezburger.com/View/2940123648

         

          Every Saturday I go to the Music Institute of Chicago to wait for my little sister to finish with her violin lessons. And every Saturday it seems like the same kid sits next to me in the waiting room, opens a green binder labeled “Pre-Calculus,” stares at a page of notes for exactly two minutes, active reads half of a book (yes, it’s different each time), and then takes out his music and hums quietly to himself. Yes, all of this occurs in approximately 45 minutes while he waits for his teacher to call for him.

            If you were curious, this week’s literary work was Hamlet.

            Considering that I see this kid every Saturday, I decided to make a friend and break the awkward ice that always occurs since we always end up sitting next to each other every single Saturday.

            “Hi, I’m Sarah. I noticed you come here—”

            “Yeah, I have a lesson.”

            “…Oh.”

            “Yeah.”

            Enter a good 10 minutes of silence. Why am I so awkward? I’d like to know that, too.

            So I took out my assignment notebook and was busy crossing out my English homework pretending to be productive when the kid looks at the cover of my notebook and asks, “You’re from Glenbrook North?”

            Extremely happy that he decided to break the silence, I took the opportunity to respond with, “Yeah, I am. Which school are you from?”

            “New Trier. But I’m actually a transfer student from Spain.”

            “Oh, wow, you don’t have an accent!”

            Why do I always say the wrong things at the wrong time?

            Trying to not sound completely stupid, I added, “I mean, like, you know, for, uh…”

            That definitely helped.

            Luckily, his teacher decided to come just at the right moment and call for him.

            He reached for a handshake with his left hand.

            I reached for a handshake with my right.

            Seeing that the handshake wouldn’t work out, he simply said, “Well, it was nice talking to you, Sarah. Also, your pencil case is spilling right now.”

            “Oh, well, yeah, thanks…”

            I cleaned up my pencil case and swore I’d never try to make small talk with people who open green binders labeled “Pre-Calculus,” stare at notes for two minutes, active read crazy hard books, and hum their violin music to themselves again.

            But I mean, chances are, I’ll end up talking to the kid again.

            Because who doesn’t want a friend from Spain? 

The Awkward Moment When Small Children Get More Valentines Than You Do

Photo Credits to http://thatawkwarddisneymoment.tumblr.com/

          “Sarah, I’m home.”

          “Oh, hi Kate, what’s the box for?”

          “It’s my Valentine’s Day box. Everyone in my class got valentines and then we put them in these boxes. Where’s your Valentine’s Day box?”

          “Uh… it’s… in my room.”

          Reality bites. My third grade sister receiving love letters from boys before me? That’s just cruel.

          Naturally, I didn’t really think about Valentine’s Day that morning, so it’s not like I got dressed in a red dress or anything. But I really miss the whole give-everyone-a-gift day in February.

          Sometimes I feel like high school takes away fun activities and turns them into exclusive privileges.

          Take sports teams or “clubs” for example. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of having a few kids in a group who get really close and do stuff together, but sometimes I feel like teams and clubs kind of become a cult. And it’s almost as if people can’t join that cult if they weren’t there from the start.

          But maybe I’m just ranting to try to get around the fact that my sister got more valentines than I did.

          Please excuse me while I go wallow in my sorrows with a classic Disney movie and some pretzel M&Ms that my mother bought me.

          :)

The Awkward Moment When You Realize That You've Been Living In A Dump For The Past Few Weeks

Photo Creds to: www.cartoonstock.com/directory/m/mesy_bedroom.asp

The past two weeks have been one of the few times in my life where I literally become a hermit. I huddle in my room like I’m allergic to the light and surround myself with textbooks, graph paper, and a box of Ritz crackers.

Oh, how I love finals.

Not only do I love how it transforms me into an antisocial mess, but I love how it also transforms my room into an antisocial mess. As in, no one wants to step into my room, because they know that if they do, they will either 1) get yelled or 2) step on a textbook and then get yelled at or 3) trip over a basket of dirty laundry.

So I took my finals this week and I felt good about all of them except one, which would be Chemistry. And that’s kind of ironic since this whole blog is for chemistry. I believe that even though I studied my butt off for that class all weekend long, because it was my first final, I froze up and suddenly the words and numbers were dancing around the page mocking me.

Anyways, the rest of the finals went pretty smoothly if anyone was wondering. Which probably no one is. And that’s just fine, don’t worry about it.

On Thursday, I came home from my friend’s house and almost died of embarrassment when I stepped into my room because, yes, I did trip on my laundry mountain and I also did a hop-skip over my laptop and landed on my food supply from the past weeks (the crackers). Not only was the floor a mess, my trash can was overflowing with Starbucks and Caribou Coffee cups, and although I guess I didn’t realize it while sleeping before, my bed had textbooks lined up on the foot of it.

My Lord, I’d been living in a dump.

I seriously need to rethink my life.

After I finish cleaning this room.

The Awkward Moment When You Have To See Long-Lost Family Members

Photo Credits to http://outmanned.com/blog/category/family/

              Today, I had the pleasure of spending an entire day at my aunt’s house in California for a family reunion. The weather was nice and the beach twenty steps outside the backyard looked enticing. In other words, it was a perfect day in the making.

                Except for the family part of the reunion.

                After not living in/visiting California for a while now, seeing family was just kind of… uncomfortable to be honest. I mean, what in the world are you supposed to talk about? You always end up talking about two things: school and relationships (as the above picture describes quite precisely). Conversations usually go something like this:

                “So, Sarah, how’s school?”

                “It’s not bad. Can’t complain that much.”

                “Are you doing well?”

                “Relatively.”

                “Are you in clubs?”

                “Yes, orchestra and After School All-Stars to name a few.”

                “That’s good. Are you studying for your SATs or ACTs now?”

                “No…”

                “Oh.”

                “Yeah.”

                “So. Boyfriend?”

                “No.”

                “That’s okay.”

                “Is it bad that I don’t have one?”

                “ ‘Course not…”

                “Alright then. Um… erm… I think I hear my mom calling. It was nice talking with you Auntie…”

                Yes, I am a socially awkward person. It’s okay. Luckily, family cannot judge you because they realize that if they judge you, they’re basically judging themselves since you’re part of their bloodline and let’s be honest, they came before you, so who’s to blame? I’m not really sure if that sentence made sense; partly because it was an extreme run on. My English teacher that ignores me would tack off five points with a smile.

                Maybe I should work on some social skills before I attend the next family reunion; talk to a mirror for five minutes, then have some already prepared answers for the questions I know will be coming so people won’t be disappointed. Sure, I’m stretching the truth a bit, but it makes conversations with family less awkward, I don’t think anyone will be complaining. Maybe conversations will go like this:

                “So, Sarah, how’s school?”

                “Fantastic! I’m on the honor roll and a perfect 5.0 GPA!”

                “Wow! That’s impressive! Are you in clubs?”

                “Yes, I am the captain of the math team and I am the first chair in my orchestra!” (both of these are complete lies)

                “Not bad. Studying for your ACT/SAT?”

                “Of course I am- I take classes every Saturday and will be taking the ACT in January.” (um, have I mentioned that I have no intentions of studying that hard for these tests?)

                “Do you have a boyfriend?”

                “Obviously. He’s 6 foot 3, smart, athletic, and super nice, don’t you approve?” (well isn’t this a joke…)

                “Of course I do!”

That conversation will never happen… but let’s get over it.

Family reunions will always be awkward.

The Awkward Moment When You Stare At Someone While Daydreaming

Photo Credits to: http://www.cracked.com/article_19188_19-warning-signs-common-awkward-moments.html

I love orchestra. Who doesn’t like playing instruments that damage your back and twist your left arm around awkward instruments that are shaped like, well, you get the point. Today, we had a test, yes, a test in an elective that’s supposed to be a blow-off class. Every year, the band and orchestra and choir collaborate together to piece together the song “White Christmas,” and every year, the band and the choir take up the stage, and the orchestra is forced to play on the wings of the stage, having the song memorize. And today, the conductor was testing all of the orchestra players to see if they had memorized their parts.

           As one could probably predict, I did not memorize the piece. The reason for this is half because I expected my doctor’s appointment to end much later than it did (I had been pulled out of school and hadn’t expected to get back until the class after orchestra) and half because the last time I picked up my violin to practice, one of the strings snapped in my face and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

            The conductor said that we could have twenty minutes to rehearse before he tested us, and many of the students resorted to practicing like good Asians should (sorry, but about 90% of the orchestra is Asian). However, I really didn’t want to crack open the violin case that sat at my feet, so I propped my feet up on the case, leaned back , and thought about my health test that I was to take tomorrow that was on STDs.

            Of course, while I was thinking about this, I didn’t really think about where I was looking, because sometimes when I daydream, my eyes are open, but I’m not really seeing what’s in front of me.

            Oh, the poor cello player who probably thought I was mad at him.

            When I finally snapped back into reality, the kid who I was subconsciously staring at gave a wounded look, like he was afraid of me. Luckily, he wasn’t shy and came up to me and asked what I was so upset about, because apparently, I had been glaring at him and I hadn’t even noticed it.

            I’m real passionate about that health test tomorrow, that’s why I was glaring. I was in full concentration mode.

            Just kidding. Studying for health class is like pulling out teeth. It’s painful and to get it done, someone would probably have to put me on some kind of drug for me to go through with it (Note: I am not advocating for taking drugs while studying).

            I guess I’m lucky that people in the orchestra aren’t really shy with each other and are able to go up to each other and ask why they were glaring at them. Sadly, I am not as lucky to have those kinds of people in the other classes in which I daydream about random things (such as pancakes, like the guy in the picture). So, I’m sure that about half my social studies class thinks that I’m mad at them since I’m always daydreaming in that class.

            Perhaps one day someone will tell me every time I stare at someone, because that would be very helpful, and would perhaps avoid that awkward moment when the person you are staring at and you both lock eyes.

            Well, that’s all I shall write tonight.

            By the way. I passed the orchestra test. Standing in the back and being short has its advantages.

The Awkward Moment When Your Yearbook Drops On Your Head

Photo Credit to  http://edocs.lib.sfu.ca/cgi-bin/Cartoons?CartoonID=6160

              On Thursday, I came home from school extremely exhausted. I had just had a math test first thing that morning, and then right after, I took a Comparative Global Issues Test (which I probably got a C on, if I’m lucky). I was tired and was looking forward to a nice nap. I opened the door to my house, walked to my room, and…

            Tripped over something and landed on my face. I groaned and stood back up, only to fall again by slipping on a sock that I had left strewn on my floor in my rush to get to school that morning. I threw a mini temper tantrum before realizing that the closet space that I call a room was beginning to look more like a garbage dump than a living area. So, I got to work and began cleaning the place, completely forgetting that I was exhausted. I put a load of clothes in the washer, put books on the bookshelf, folded laundry that was supposed to be folded weeks ago but ended up under my bed, and cleaned up my dresser, which was cluttered with hair products and eye contact solution.

            Next, I started clearing out my actual closet, and to my surprise (although I really shouldn’t have been surprised), a book fell on my head, and then a whole bunch of books started raining down on me. After cursing everything around me, I took a look at the books that had tried to kill me.

            Middle School yearbooks.

            Ah, yes, the pain of taking pictures in the middle of your awkward stage. That acne that you thought was under control? It shows back up only on the day of pictures. The flyaway hair you paid extra to stay in place at the salon? Yup, it’s there too, only on the day that you need the perfect picture. Spaghetti sauce on your new shirt? Classic. Patchy eyes because you forgot you had pictures and stayed up late watching TV? They’re there.

            How embarrassing. It kind of makes you wonder years from now when your classmates pull out these random books (or if the books fall on their heads and they decide to open them) if they will look at your picture and go, “Oh hey, I remember her. Gosh, what’s wrong with her shirt? And that hair? Oh my Lord.” Hopefully people have more tact, though, and will go, “Oh, I don’t really remember her, but I’m sure she was somewhat normal.”

            Well, it’s a good thing I was exhausted and didn’t check any other pictures from my embarrassing past, or else I’d probably try to white out all my old photos. The second I finished looking at one of the photos, I got tired and fell asleep.

On the floor of my room.

Guess I just went back to where I started.

The Awkward Moment When Your Stomach Growls

Photo Credits to http://www.brucehanson.com/oxford/cartoon16.html

When I’m not deriving mother functions, attempting not to touch asymptotes on graphs, and not telling people to Fog Gof in my Algebra 2 class (okay, please excuse the math humor here), I am often thinking about food. I think it’s probably because I have math first thing in the morning, which is, just to my luck, when I am about as alert as when I am sleeping.

The chances of me eating breakfast is very small. I have a carpool I need to think about, homework to finish, and sometimes I wake up at 7 in the morning. Chances are, all 3 of those are going on that day, and I get out of the house at around 7:15, pick up my carpool, and step into my math class just as the bell rings.

My teacher tries to mix up the seating each math class by having the SmartBoard mix our seating chart around, but I always end up sitting next to the same couple kids. Not that I’m complaining, but a lot of my friends are in that class, and I’m always on the other side of the room that they’re on. My luck is wonderful.

Anyways, usually around 8, the pains of not eating since the last night will start to show.

The worst part is, my stomach growls so loudly sometimes that the little freshman next to me stares at me like I’m some sort of circus act. Which, I mean, I’m sure my face looks like it that early in the morning.

But it’s even better when the class is silent while taking a quiz and then my stomach growls.

What’s even better though?

When several people’s stomachs growl in, like, the same minute.

Teenagers.

They’re all the same.

The Awkward Moment When Your Little Sister Asks For An iPhone for Christmas

Photo Credits to http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/m/mailing_list.asp

             On Monday, my mom passed out pieces of paper to my sisters and me at the dinner table and asked us to write a letter to Santa. My seventh-grade sister and I rolled our eyes casually and wrote the letter halfheartedly, you know, the usual, “Hi Santa, I’ve been good. Now hand over the gifts and maybe I’ll put out of cookies on the 24^th.” But, my second-grade sister made sure to write her letter very slowly, thinking about what she really wanted and probably giving examples of when she had done something worthy of a gift (sharing her toys, not slapping her older sisters, etc). After she had finished writing, my mom collected all of our letters and put them on top of the fridge so no one could reach it. Being the bad daughter that I am, I still went to get them when she left the kitchen. I decided to read the seventh grader’s letter first. She asked for soccer equipment, which isn’t exactly surprising since I think that the girl lives and breathes soccer.

         But then, I read the second grader’s letter.

                Dear Santa, I have been very good lately. I shared my dolls with my friend yesterday and helped my mom clean up the cichen (kitchen, for those of you who don’t read 2^nd grader language). For Christmas, I want an iPhone because Mrs. L. has one, and it has fun games on it. I like the one where you jump on blocks.

            Sincerely, Kathryn

                I spent a good amount of time staring at this letter. I hadn’t even asked for an iPhone, and I’m the one with the broken phone! This made me think about how fast kids are becoming addicted to technology. Kathryn already had her own notebook laptop January of her first grade year (her class made their own blogs, so this is why she needed one, or so she claimed), and even my baby brother, Matthew, had one of those new vTech-baby laptops. Let me tell you, when I was in first grade, I used to write things longhand, and when I was a baby, I played with Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animals. And I wished for a stationary set in second grade, not a new phone.

                Kids these days are kind of getting ridiculous.

                But you know what would be more ridiculous?

                If Kathryn actually got the iPhone.

The Awkward Moment When The Teacher Calls On Everyone EXCEPT You

Photo Creds to: http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/1785/PreviewComp/SuperStock_1785R-3295.jpg

Note: Names have been changed for privacy reasons

         “Circle up,” my teacher, Ms. Brown, says. It’s the usual routine- getting 26 desks to form a perfect circle in the windowless cell that I call my English classroom. The 26 of us grumble about having to move our lazy butts into formation, but we do it nonetheless, because, well, that’s just what honor students do—they do things that they don’t want to do simply to please adults (it’s kind of like taking the honors class to please their parents).

         Ms. Brown asks a prompt question to get the gears in our small heads turning, and I raise my hand quickly, but someone beats me to do it, and he is called on.

          It’s okay, I think to myself, I’ll just keep raising my hand and then I’ll share my idea.

          5 minutes pass, the Ms. Brown hasn’t called on me yet. I jot my idea down on a sheet of paper because I have the memory capacity of a goldfish and pray that she will call on me.

          10 minutes pass, and my arm is crying, begging me to put it down, because blood is no longer circulating to my fingers.

          “Jonny, what do you think about this?” Ms. Brown asks a boy who sits in the corner. He shrugs nonchalantly, says something to get her to accept that he doesn’t know the answer, and goes back to sleep.

          The same girl who has been picked on about four times now raises her hand.

          “Nina, you may talk.”

          Alright, so at this point, it has been 15 minutes and I think that everyone in this class has said my ideas, which I am writing on my paper, but then I have to cross them off. Please pick on me!

          Finally, after 20 minutes have passed, I hear my name.

          “Sarah, anything to add?”

          “No, sorry,” I say simply and call it a day. My arm is dead and I give up. All of my comments have been said in some shape, way or form by the girl who gets called on at least 4 times a day.

          After class, I ask Ms. Brown how I can boost my participation in her class. Her answer?

          Raise your hand.

          And I take that. Because I’m an honor student, and I do stuff because it makes you happy, Ms. Brown.

          Just one request. Please call on me next time.

The Awkward Moment When A White Van Follows You

Photo Creds to: http://www.buzzfeed.com/chrismenning/10-charts-of-awkward-situations

A couple of days ago, I had the pleasure of walking home alone after school. I had just finished my duties at the high school Halloween party, and watched as small children came and went in their costumes. I saw princesses, ghosts, donkeys, you name it—kids are getting pretty clever these days. 

Anyways, I turned on my street and suddenly heard tires behind me. Normally, I would simply step aside and allow the car to pass, expecting to see an Acura or some other common North Shore minivan. However, this time, nothing passed. In fact, no matter how far off the road I went, this car wouldn’t pass. So, I slowly turned around, and of course, staring right back at me was a white van, and I could see an arm sticking out of the drivers’ seat, holding a cigarette, which “fell” casually to the curbside. I shrieked and sprinted to the closest car. I probably looked ridiculous as my backpack hit my back, but I didn’t care. I hid behind the car and had a mini heart attack as I searched for my phone so I could speed dial my mother in the case I got kidnapped (which, let’s be honest— calling her wouldn't make a difference—mothers never pick up their cell phones on the first call).

Now, here’s the embarrassing part. As the car slowly drove by, I heard, “Sarah… is that you…?” Turns out, the van belonged to my neighbor’s friend, and my neighbor was driving the van. I attempted to look cool by checking out the car I was hiding behind as if thinking Wow, what a nice Saturn Sedan we’ve got here… but obviously, I looked stupid no matter how I tried to cover my tracks.

I guess I could be considered extremely prejudice for assuming that the white van was owned by some kind of rapist, but I don’t care. If I see a white van, I’m running to check out the nearest sedan. 

The Awkward Moment When You're In An Elevator And A Stranger Walks In

 Photo Credit to http://ericcyee.blogspot.com/2011/03/elevator-awkwardness.html

 A couple of months ago, I was taking a class at an office building. To get to the class, I had to enter a sleek revolving door, walk down a marble hallway, pass the ball of aluminum contemporary folks call “art,” and go up an elevator (that played some great saxophone music) seven floors.

      Out of that entire journey, the most hated part was not getting hit by the revolving door that spun too fast for my liking or slipping on the marble floor on rainy summer days. In fact, the worst part of that trip was the long anticipated elevator ride, wondering if someone would walk into my private cubicle attached to a couple of wires.

Why must elevator rides be so awkward?

Am I the only one who would rather be in a small, vertically moving box alone rather than being next to a complete stranger?

      Luckily, I am not, and there is actually a site that I found that has ideas on how to make elevator rides less awkward.

Instructions

o    1

Say Hello. I'm not telling you to start up a full fledged conversation. Say "Hi"-at most "How are you?" Remember, when people ask you "how are you?" they really do not care about how you are! They are attempting to do the same thing you are-which is make this as quick and painless as possible. Speaking is better than not speaking.

o    2

Do not seem too interested in the other person in the elevator. This will come across as creepy, not flattering. A good way to tell whether or not you've done this is if you are the only person in the elevator and there are several other buttons still lit up. Conversely, if you are trapped in an elevator with a creepy person, abandon ship and take the next trip up/down.

o    3

Make eye contact but do not stare. If "hello" is too much for you, look at the person and smile. This can be replaced by a head-nod if you are male. You're making a conscious effort to say, "Yes, I realize there's another person in the elevator with me, but if I wanted to speak, I would have opened my mouth."

o    4

Be courteous: This includes no cell phone talk or bodily noises. At best, this is a 5 x 5 room. We can hear (and smell) everything you may do or say. Enough said.

o    5

Finally, say "Goodbye" or "Have a nice day." If you've greeted the person, you might as well get closure from the encounter. You'll feel immediate relief once you exit the elevator doors. Walk forward, and start to breath normally again!

Read more: How to Avoid Awkward Elevator Rides | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5190650_avoid-awkward-elevator-rides.html#ixzz1Zm0udSBn

       I completely agree. But then, there are also those unspoken rules about riding in an elevator, like you must stand facing the door, don’t make eye contact (that’s just creepy), keep your noises to yourself, and don’t speak unless you are asking what floor your new acquaintance would like to leave at. Which do you follow? Which are you allowed break?

      One day, I’m just going to break all the rules. Next time I enter an elevator I’m going to bring a batch of chocolate chip cookies, and for every person that enters, I’ll make eye contact, hand them a cookie, comment on the weather, and ask how the kids are doing.

     Okay, maybe I’m actually too awkward myself to do that, but I think that I shall enjoy my time being stuck with an utterly complete stranger, and revel in the ten seconds we spend together. I think that we shall converse about the weather.