Let’s talk about the most overconfident, underperforming button in modern technology: the “Close Door” button on an Otis elevator. A button so bold, so brimming with promise, that you can’t help but press it like your entire timeline depends on it. Yet, more often than not, it sits there, mocking your urgency with silent defiance—like a cat watching you call it from across the room.

Imagine this: you’re running late, Starbucks in hand, nerves frayed, and you finally reach the elevator. Someone’s trailing 20 feet behind you, clearly aiming for the same vertical destination. You eye the “Close Door” button with steely determination, channeling all your willpower into one righteous jab. And… nothing. The doors pause, dramatically, as if considering your plea… before staying open long enough to let your trailing co-rider slip in with a smug nod. You didn’t close the door—you just sent a polite request to the elevator gods, who promptly ignored it.

Why does Otis even have a “Close Door” button? Well, turns out, it’s largely a placebo. For many elevators, especially in buildings built post-1990, the button is deactivated or overridden by a timer, reserved for emergencies or maintenance personnel with magical keys. For the rest of us mortals? It’s basically an adult version of a toy steering wheel. We press it to feel in control, because pushing buttons is what we do when we don’t actually have time for real solutions.

Scientific studies (conducted primarily in crowded office lobbies and hotels at 8:58 a.m.) have shown that humans are 73% more likely to hit the “Close Door” button repeatedly than just wait patiently. This behavior stems from our deep distrust of time and other people. Pressing the button repeatedly creates the illusion of productivity, much like reloading your inbox when you’re waiting for that one important email, or opening the fridge for the sixth time, hoping chocolate has materialized.

There’s also a social strategy involved. The way you press the “Close Door” button says everything about you.
• The tap and glance: You’re pretending not to notice the other person running toward the elevator.
• The full press with body shield: You’ve decided to betray basic human decency for your own schedule.
• The fake press: You press it while smiling warmly, signaling, “I tried,” while fully aware it does nothing.

Otis elevators have essentially turned us into actors in a moral drama performed 50 times a day.

In many ways, the Otis “Close Door” button is a symbol of adulthood itself. Full of buttons that seem to do something but don’t. Mortgage refinancing, printer troubleshooting, and dieting after 5 p.m.—all have the same energy. The illusion of control is the lifeblood of modern living. We love the illusion of control, don’t we?

And yet, even as we know its futility, we still press it. Every single time. Because hope, however unscientific, beats standing next to a stranger who insists on loud phone calls or eye contact.

So next time you find yourself jabbing that shiny, unyielding button, – hold your head high. You are a dreamer. A doer. A hero in an elevator shaft. You know it may be a lie, but you press it anyway.

After all, your hurry is more important than the other guy’s hurry. I wonder, what do we impatient people do with the invitation Jesus issued to the disciples, “Hey guys, let’s get away from the crowds and rest.”