Sunday, August 8, 2010
After living for nearly a year 31 floors up, I feel like I'm the master of the elevator. I've figured out elevators all across this town, and know which ones have doors that close no matter what, so you don't want to chance throwing a limb in between the doors. I also know which ones have sensors, so I can throw an arm or Chihuahua in front of them so they don't close. I always double check before getting on that it's actually going the direction I want it to go.
What I've noticed about many other Chicagoans is that they're a hot mess when it comes to elevators. Perhaps preoccupied by life, these people are never sure if the elevator is going up or down, and which floor they're getting off on.
Tonight Mike and I took the dogs outside, and as we were heading back upstairs we stopped on the 21st floor. A woman was waiting to get on, and we informed her we were going up. She politely smiled and got on anyway. Then as we began going upwards, she realized she meant to go down. We warned her!
Yesterday when I got on the elevator there was already a women inside, yet no buttons were pushed. That means she was just going to ride around from floor to floor until someone got in and hit Lobby.
And on more than one occasion I've seen someone hit floor 40 or higher. When I get off on floor 31, they distractedly follow me off the elevator. Then they cuss, and realize they got off too soon. They turn around, but it's too late, the doors have shut behind them. What are we, sheep?
Isn't it scary that some people are so distracted? Usually they are texting or listening to an Ipod. I hope when they finally get off the elevator they aren't getting into a car, because that would be scary.