Passing someone on the stairs is unlucky

Emma: (pausing halfway up the stairs) Oi, don’t come down yet!

James: Why not? I’m late for work as it is.

Emma: You can’t pass on the stairs, James. It’s bad luck! Everyone knows that.

James: Bad luck? Emma, the worst thing that happens when two people pass on the stairs is one of them trips because there’s not enough space. That’s just physics, not fate.

Emma: Exactly! Someone does trip, or you argue, or something falls apart later in the day. My gran always said it splits friendships.

James: Your gran also swore putting new shoes on the table would bring ruin, didn’t she?

Emma: And she was right! I once put my new trainers on the kitchen table and the very next day it rained so hard they got ruined.

James: Or… you bought trainers in Britain, where rain is basically guaranteed?

Emma: (grinning) Always with your science. But honestly, I’ve noticed it. Last year I let Becky pass me on her way up, and later that week she and I had the biggest falling-out. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

James: Or maybe you two were already wound up and the stairs had nothing to do with it. If you’d passed her in the hallway, would you have blamed the carpet?

Emma: You’re missing the point. These traditions survive because people keep seeing patterns.

James: Or because people look for patterns. It’s like seeing faces in clouds—you remember the spooky matches and forget all the times nothing happened. How many times have you passed me on these stairs and we’ve been fine?

Emma: (pauses, counting on fingers) …Three? Maybe four.

James: Try about fifty. And we’re still friends, aren’t we?

Emma: For now. But why tempt fate? We could just wait—safer for both of us.

James: Because if I wait every time you’re halfway up, I’ll never leave the flat on time. And honestly, if passing on the stairs is cursed, then I’d rather we both face it together than one of us stand there like lemons.

Emma: (laughing) Alright, brave rationalist. But don’t blame me if you stub your toe later.

James: Deal. And if I do, I’ll blame the coffee table, not the staircase.