The Elevator Mistrust

You're standing in front of the elevator.
You pressed the button. The light is on. You're waiting.

Then someone walks up and presses it again.

Why? Can you not see it's already lit?
Do you think I'm just standing here for fun?
Do you believe I arrived at this elevator, assessed the situation, and decided to simply wait near it without pressing anything?
What kind of person does that?
I was here first.
This is my elevator.
I established the relationship.
You're just... visiting.

And yet - they press it. Without hesitation.
Without even glancing at the light first. Walk up, press, stand back.
Hands behind the back sometimes—like they’ve just completed a delicate technical operation.
As if their press is somehow more valid than yours.
As if the elevator was waiting specifically for their finger.

It's a tiny act of distrust. Not malicious. Not even conscious.
But it says something.
I don’t trust that you did this correctly.
I don’t fully believe in your competence as a button-presser.

Let me just make sure.

The beautiful part is - I do the same thing.

I've caught myself walking up to an elevator where someone is clearly already waiting, the button clearly already lit, and pressing it anyway.
Not because I think they didn't.
Not because my press carries more authority.
But because... what if? What if they didn't?
What if the light is broken?
What if pressing it again makes it come faster? (It doesn't. I know it doesn't. I press it anyway.)
What if the elevator just needs a kind reminder?

So there are the pressers - who press regardless.
There are the judgers - who already pressed and resent anyone who follows.
And then there are the inspectors.

They walk up, see someone waiting, look at the button, notice it’s lit—and pull their hand back at the last second.
A little nod. "Confirmed. The system is functioning. I will not intervene."
They feel mature. Restrained. Trusting.

This is the rarest species. Most of us are pressers.

But here's the thing that happened to me last week.
I was waiting at an elevator.
Someone walked up and pressed the button.
I felt that familiar flash of annoyance - I was here first, I pressed it, why don't you trust me?

Then I looked at the button.

It wasn't lit.

Not dim. Not flickering. Just completely off.

I had been standing there for a full minute, mildly irritated at humanity, having never actually pressed it myself.
The person who "didn't trust me" was the only one who'd done anything useful.

Maybe the real question isn't why they pressed it.
Maybe it's why I was so sure I had.

How many times do we stand around "waiting for the elevator" because we assume we did our part, but never actually checked whether the light was on?