The button. Everything starts with the button. I hate the button. What’s on
the button? How do you push the button? With your knuckle, or elbow or a
key? Some idiots are using their feet! Then, there’s the cabin. It used to
feel so spacious — now, a room for two.
You don’t have to be brain surgeon or work for Otis to understand that the
elevator is going to be the bane of our existence until there’s a vaccine.
I live on the 11th floor of a condo building. Fortunately, I have never had to
use the stairs. When the lockdown came, the maximum number of people
in an elevator was three — now it’s down to two. With masks.
But what’s going to happen when the office buildings open up downtown
and bring staff back? How do you get the thousands of workers up to the
sixty-fourth floor — two or three at a time? It’ll take hours. Which gives us
a view of the bottle-neck waiting to slow our recovery.
I was riding alone last night when my elevator stopped on the 10th floor
and a couple going to the rooftop patio got on, carrying a birthday cake and
glasses of wine. They weren’t concerned about riding with a third party —
hell, they weren’t even wearing masks. So, I stepped off and waited for the
next ride up. They were going to a party — I was just going home to wash
my hands. What’s on that button anyway?