"Oh, look, I'm the only one at the Elevator bank.  Let me press the button and hope an elevator comes quickly so I don't have to share the cramped space in uncomfortable silence, or even worse, have an awkward exchange with anyone else, especially the postman who is the epitomy of faux joviality or maybe it's genuine I'm not sure but either way it's absolutely excruciating.  Damn, so much for breathing room, here comes someone else.  And what are they doing?  Why, they just pressed the elevator button even though it was clearly lit in indication that someone--me--had already done so, which is probably just a nervous tic, or maybe a genuine belief that they have activated turbo mode and that all scheduled stops along the lift's way will be canceled so that said contraption can submit to the presser's immediate need to be conveyed to 16.  Or perhaps it's an alpha thing, a way to crush my ego by implicitly and wordlessly articulating that my press was not good enough, that no self-respecting elevator would deign to open its doors for the pathetic likes of me, and that it takes some real swagger and iron cojones to bring this mechanical contraption to its knees, or at least to the ground floor.  Then, when the elevator does come, a hint of a smirk on their face as if to say, see, it was only after I pressed the button that the elevator came, and it's like, duh, do you even know anything about the continuum of time and the funny way things happen in sequence or at least they do as far as human perception is concerned?  Or are you not human, are you a being that defies the shackles of time and space and floats in an boundaryless ether of your own making?  I don't think so since you have to take an elevator just like everyone else!  I hate you, despise you, am digging my fingernails into my palms to cancel out my searing humiliation, but I am doing it over here, in the corner, quietly.  Press 6, please?"