Since I moved into the building where I’m staying now, there’s been this elevator situation.
Our building has got 2 elevators. Two, non-synchronized elevators. Two elevators with two, strange looking buttons, that everybody who wants to go up or down needs to press in order to get somewhere in the building. However, step into the lift and you never know where it’s going to take you. As you see on the picture, there’s no button indicating if it’s going up or down.
The up/down thing was OK (or OK, I admit, it annoyed me, especially after spending numerous mornings going to the 24th floor to pick up people instead of down when I was late for work), until that day when one of the lifts stopped working. Yeah. Just like that. No warning sign. No nothing. Just a dead button that didn’t react when you pressed it. And one, poor, dead-slow elevator serving a building of 24 floors.
You see, if it was an efficient elevator it would be OK. But it’s not. It might actually be some kind of ancient elevator type, because it is not only slow, but extremely slow. When it stops and opens it does so for at least 45 seconds. And that’s a LONG time when you’re standing on the 9th floor waiting, and seeing the elevator slowly making its way from the 18th to the 19th floor, stopping for 45 seconds at each.
And no. Don’t even start telling me to take the stairs. I’d kill myself in an instance. I tried once, during the weekend when I was neither stressed nor wearing high heels, and it was a disaster. Dark (no lights at all at most floors), moist, stinky, uneven steps and nothing to grab onto. I was Bambi going on a suicide attempt. And I was wearing bloody sneakers!
So taking the stairs down during a weekday when I’m in my business attire (featuring sky-high pumps, yes, every day, and skirts-that-were-not-made-for-walking-or-moving) and feeling slightly stressed is a no-no. I simply have to wait for the elevator. Every single morning. Just like everyone else in my building.
I’ve been trying to keep a brave, cheerful face for one week now. One week, and it hasn’t been easy. I’ve been late for work most mornings. Even though I try to leave 10 min earlier than normally.
Last night I lost it, and jumped on the poor old man doing some sort of building maintenance (?) at the dirty lobby.
-
When are they going to fiiiiiiix it?! I cried, pointing at the dead elevator button and the “under construction” sign on the non-working lift.
-Oh, the lift? Well. They are not. They have to replace it. But it hasn’t been decided yet. So first they have to decide if they are going to replace it. Then they have to decide with what kind of elevator they want to replace it (Which, by the way, proves my point: replacing it with a similar kind would be impossible since it’s not from this century), and then, they might start working on it.
-How long?! I said, tears in my eyes.
One…. Month?
-One month? Hahaha! Maybe it will take them one month to decide. But to get it to work again? I will take more than three months!
At that very moment, a lot of strange thoughts flashed through my head:
From nowdaays onwards: always being late for work? Never again being able to wear heels to work? Not running down to the convenience store for a quick tub of ice cream at needed moments? Having to squeeze in with the residents of 24 floors every morning (after having waited for them for 10 min). Being Bambi in the stairs on a day when I simply cannot cope with this all? "Swedish woman, damaged for life as she tried to take on dangerous stairs in pumps."
I’m still coping with taking all of this in, so please, dear readers: Be kind.
