A glorious morning in Wapping: the sun is shining; it’s nice, for once, not to be sitting at home in elasticated clothing; and I’m lolloping happily back to my desk with a latte when, between the third and upper ground floors, something awful happens. One of the most awful things that can ever happen to anyone in an office in fact: a senior executive enters my lift.

Sharing an elevator with a boss is always a stressful business: the impulse to minimise potential disaster by saying nothing clashing violently against the impulse to say something fantastically witty. But it is even more difficult during periods of management upheaval, such as The Times is currently experiencing, when these contradictory urges mingle with an overwhelming desire to fall to one’s knees in tears, pleading not to be fired.

Not that you’ll relate to this if you’re from the US. American professional development experts have long advised workers to handle such situations by calmly launching into an “elevator speech” - a monologue designed to paint oneself in the best possible light. There is disagreement about how long such a speech should last – experts variously suggest five seconds, ten seconds, 15 words, 16 seconds, 30 seconds, and three to six sentences – and on what should be covered. Suggestions include everything from your name to “developmental milestones” and “profiles of your clients and target customers”. But there is consensus that elevator speeches should be rehearsed regularly in front of friends or mirrors.

I’ve been doing the latter this morning and the most recent attempt went something like this: Hello! [firm handshake] I’m Sathnam and I write a column [fearless eye contact] for The Times on Saturdays! It’s not always worth reading but I’d like to think it sometimes is. At school, my achievements included winning the Chesterman Prize for Initiative and [firm handshake and fearless eye contact] my first book is published next year! Would you like a card?”

And here you have one of the problems with the concept of the elevator speech. Leaving aside the question of how you get all the information into half a minute of babbling, and the question of what happens if your boss needs to get out of the lift during the speech, and the question of what you do if there are other people in the elevator, those who advocate it do not take into account the basic fact that employees are incapable of speaking to bosses coherently.

I manage to keep it together in the office most of the time but the moment I have to talk to someone with influence over my career I become a jabbering, mumbling, word-swallowing buffoon, incapable of speaking without making strange remarks and erratic limb movements. And I’m certainly not alone. I recently witnessed a female colleague respond to the question “how are you?” from a manager with a minute-long list of maladies. And at a previous workplace I once observed the cleverest man I have ever met greet a new editor with the remark: “Hey! The sheriff's in town!” As he said this, he spun an imaginary lasso over his head.

And then there are all the things lost in translation between the US and the UK. Not only do Brits have a different lift culture – our floors are numbered differently and, of course, we talk about lifts, not elevators – but we also have a different attitude towards intimacy. In general, Americans demand lots of interpersonal space but are at ease with being incredibly intimate in conversation with strangers, whereas with Brits it’s the other way round. As if this weren’t enough, we also have entirely contrasting attitudes towards authority.

Toby Young puts it best in his memoir How to Lose Friends and Alienate People: [“In Britain] any public display of flattery is considered bad form. The correct way to behave towards a superior is to be ever so slightly insolent, thereby paying them the compliment that they are confident enough to take a bit of public ribbing. Of course, in private you suck up to them like crazy. Indeed, it’s often said that the difference between London and New York is that in London people are rude to your face but loyal behind your back, whereas in New York they’re polite to your face but rude behind your back.”

In other words, our relationship to bosses and lift travel are so screwed up that the elevator speech is not a realistic option for most of us. The only workplace scenario more difficult to navigate for a British worker would be the horror of finding oneself standing next to a superior at a urinal (which is another column for another time).

But this is not to say there are not potential solutions to the elevator conundrum. One fantastic alternative would be to import the concept of the “executive-only elevator” from the US. I’m sure British managers wouldn’t object too vehemently. Another would be to bring back elevator music. Apparently, Muzak was introduced in lifts in the 1930s to soothe the nerves of passengers frightened by the concept of dangling in a large shaft in a tin can but it could surely serve a similar function now, easing the nerves of workers petrified by brushes with authority.

If nothing else, having The Girl from Ipanema playing in the background could help to trigger some harmless small talk. Though perhaps the best alternative to the elevator speech is the option I took that morning as soon as the doors opened on the second floor and the option I have taken every day in the office since: the stairs.

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