The Ossim Elevator

As previously discussed, I am a lazy person. My apartment is on the third floor of my building, and rather than take the perfectly good set of stairs that served me so well when I first moved in, I now take the elevator every single chance I get.

Took, rather.

This morning I took the elevator down to the garage level to fetch my load of laundry that had been in the dryer overnight, and when I had recovered these fresh-scented but horribly wrinkled items, I actually hesitated for a moment, then decided to forgo that little bit of exercise for the 10-second advantage of the Incredibly Slow Elevator.

Exercise may be bad for you, but the ISE is worse.

After hauling itself up two and a half stories at eight in the morning, the ISE decided it had done enough work for one morning, and crapped out. In an elevator original to the 1960's-era building, this is not a terribly ho-hum experience, and I do not for a second believe that there are any real safety measures in place. As a matter of fact, with the spare time I suddenly had, I perused the instructions on the plaque above the buttons, and grew to doubt the presence of safety measures even more.

Sure, the elevator may be adequately ventilated, but I'm not thin enough to escape through the air slits, and apparently they're mocking me with the possibility of a telephone. In fact, those unnecessary quotation marks went so far as to remind me that I had neglected to bring my cell phone with me on this otherwise-mundane trip to the laundry room, and that oversight might doom me to an entire day trapped in an adequately-ventilated elevator that is shaking a bit and occasionally lurching. Even if I had "furnished" my own phone, they provide no number for the emergency service of these magical Elevator Companies. That's delightful. In fact, I'd love to call the building manager and thank them for the "pleasant experience."

At long last the elevator finally gave up and returned to the garage level, releasing me finally finally finally out into the open. I chose to take the stairs back up.



Not ten minutes later when I left for work, I hit the elevator call button and stepped inside. As the door closed and I reached for the L button, my eye strayed to that cursed plaque and I realized exactly how much of an idiot I was.