Going Down an Elevator Is Rarely Uplifting : ELEVATOR: Uplifting

I got on an elevator a while back with a friend. Immediately on entering he took his hat off and placed it over his heart.

“It’s customary,” he said. “Actually, I’d do it anyway because I don’t want to meet my maker with my hat on and I don’t trust these things.”

It occurred to me that I didn’t trust them either. I still don’t. And the more I see of them in my travels about the world, the more I don’t trust them. I figure if the Lord had meant for me to ride up and down on a string, he’d have made me a yo-yo.

My wife, Joyce, has opined a time or two that He did just that. And indeed, I may be a little eccentric on the subject. I’m not about to organize a demonstration and carry a sign reading, “Down With Elevators.” But I am saying the whole business needs a little more thought.

Hoisting a Lift

The names, alone, should make one suspicious. I’ve heard them called “elevators,” “hoists” and “lifts.” But why are they never named after their downward motion? They don’t only go up.

Ask for directions to the lift in Harrods, in London, and you won’t have any trouble. But suppose you’re already up and want to go down. How far do you think you’ll get if you ask for directions to the “drop”?

And why do they also call that part of a moving staircase that only goes down, an escalator? It never escalates.

One of my children solved that one 25 years ago when he was little more than a toddler. As we were walking through a department store he told me he wanted to ride the “upalator,” but that the “downalator” was too scary for him.

Wouldn’t it be simpler to call them the upalator and the downalator? The only exception might be the escalator in the Centrum, the big department store in Warsaw. If I remember correctly, that machine only went up. It had no “down” counterpart.

Like a Coffin

Most of the elevators Joyce and I have seen in Europe tend to be small. The one in the Hotel DeLille, in Paris, accommodates only one person and one suitcase. The person must be thin and the suitcase only fits if standing on end.

One of our fellow guests pointed out that, lined in red velvet as it is, this particular elevator looks so much like a coffin that you’re surprised to see the occupant move when the door opens.

There was an even more memorable elevator in Stockholm, in the Palace Hotel. It was different in that it was quite large.

All of us who had been waiting in the lobby got on and went through the rituals that go with good elevator manners.

We faced the front and shuffled around a little till all of us had our approximate quota of space, gave each other little half-smiles and stared up at the spot at the top of the door.

Stuck in Sweden

Then somebody pushed a button. Others mentioned their floors and the same man cheerfully pushed buttons for each number called.

The doors closed. The light dimmed, the motor hummed for a few seconds and the doors opened. Somebody got off, looked around, found that he was still in the lobby and was trying to get back on when the doors closed.

The light dimmed, the motor hummed, stopped and the doors opened. There was the same man who’d just got off.

“Nice of you to come back for me,” he said. Several of us exchanged glances. We hadn’t gone back for him. The doors closed, the light dimmed, the motor hummed and the doors opened. Again we were facing the lobby.

It happened three or four more times before we all realized that the machine was having us. The elevator had not moved at all. It had just gone through the motions.

I found it hard to believe that such a thing could happen in a country with Sweden’s engineering record. In fact, as Joyce and I began climbing the hotel stairs with our luggage I could have sworn I heard mechanical-sounding laughter from deep in the building.

Old Elevator

Had the Swedes developed a sentient elevator? It worked flawlessly later on. I figured that someone, probably a Swedish engineer, must have had a few words with it.

The Irish elevator was another matter. We were in Galway at the Great Southern Hotel, with a tour group of mostly Irish Americans who’d “come home” to pay homage to the old sod.

It was an old building and an old elevator. Eight of us got on, on the fifth floor, and were on our way down to the lobby to catch our bus for Shannonside.

The car stopped on the fourth floor and although the elevator was full, a chambermaid got on. The doors closed and we were starting to go down again when the machinery groaned and stopped. The lights flickered and went out.

“It’s my fault,” the chambermaid said. “Things were grand till I got on. It was my weight that did it. I’m so sorry.” Several of us told her that was silly and that it was nobody’s fault.

‘Push the Button’

“Push the button,” somebody said.

“Which button?” somebody else asked.

“Any of ‘em. All of ‘em.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” said a small voice. “You might be pushing the emergency by mistake. Miss Riley gets awful mad when the emergency bell rings. She’ll think I did it. Everything that goes wrong, she thinks I did it.”

“But this is an emergency.”

“Saints preserve us,” said the girl. “It is! It is !”

“Let’s rock it,” somebody suggested.

“Are you kidding?” another man said. “This thing’s got to be 50 years old.”

A bell started to ring somewhere down in the shaft, and no one spoke while we listened for some kind of activity.

Someone outside shouted, asking if we were all right, and one of us inside shouted back that we were not all right, that we were stuck in a broken elevator in the dark and we were getting hot.

Another voice from outside announced that they’d send for the engineer and that they’d have us out in no time.

Then we heard a conversation in low tones on the other side of the door, about how it was the engineer’s day off. It wasn’t very reassuring.

Some male voice from the back of the car said: “Pretty tight in here. I think I’m engaged.”

Another male voice said: “No you aren’t.” Everybody laughed.

Missing the Bus

“They’ll think I’m after sneaking away for a smoke,” the chambermaid said, more to herself than to anyone else.

Joyce whispered that she hoped we wouldn’t miss our bus and our plane connections, which started a chorus of people calling through the door for somebody to make the Shannonside bus wait.

“I’m not much,” said the chambermaid, “but after this they’ll fire me for sure and I need this job,” she said to herself. Then louder, “Somebody tell Miss Riley, Maureen’s trapped in the lift . . . and that I’m not after running off and smoking, atall.”

There was some metallic clunking in the shaft, then a few sharp intakes of breath. Joyce comforted Maureen and told her she’d go to the management for her if it came to that.

“You Yanks are lovely people,” said the girl. “So thoughtful.”

Jokes and Riddles

The elevator grunted and dropped a few inches. We all grunted and went with it. Somebody’s deodorant failed.

Word games were suggested to pass the time. No one could think of any. One of us suggested that we sing. That also was ignored, though it seemed “Nearer, My God to Thee” might have been appropriate. Maureen said she’d tell a joke, then asked a riddle and forgot the answer. Everybody said it was all right.

An hour later, after almost everybody’s deodorant had failed, they got us out. Most of the hotel staff was standing in the lobby.

One lady, in a business suit and a worried expression, greeted us all. Her eyes settled on the chambermaid almost immediately.

“Oh, there you are, Maureen!”

Maureen looked as if she was facing the hangman. “Yes, ma’am. . . .” She started to say something else but a member of our party, a red-faced man from Boston, cut her off.

“Miss Riley, is it?” The lady nodded.

Kept Spirits Up

“This young lady here,” he went on, putting his arm around the chambermaid, “is one fine employee. She kept our spirits up the whole time, what with her jokes and all.”

“Maureen?” Miss Riley said. “She did that?”

Everyone agreed, giving the impression that anything could have happened if Maureen hadn’t been with us.

Miss Riley accepted the information with grace and more than a little surprise. She then announced that there would be another Shannonside bus along in half an hour, which ought to give us time to “freshen up a bit.”

We all needed freshening up a lot . Almost as one, we headed for the stairs.

“Maureen,” said Miss Riley. Most of us turned to see the chambermaid looking up at us. Her eyes were brimming. “You Yanks,” she said softly.

Freshening Up

Miss Riley tapped her on the shoulder. “I think you could use a little freshening up, too.”

The girl nodded and said, “Yes’m.” Then she held up her hand, wiggled her fingers at us and hurried off down the hall. The last we saw of her was when she wiped her eyes and blew her nose on her apron.

Miss Riley just heaved a great sigh and smiled at us. Then she, too, said, “You Yanks,” turned and walked back toward the desk.

I didn’t say riding in an elevator couldn’t be an uplifting experience.