The lift that gets me down..
An agitating lift is one that refuses to acknowledge your first 3 attempts at designating a preferred floor.
Once it’s seems to have chosen a destination you turn round to cast dispersions of dispair at the mirrored wall. Seconds later you comprehend that you have ceased travel not at your required port of call, but at floor 7. Floor 7 is neither floor 6 where you are compassed, nor floor 3 from which you embarked.
Before you’ve had adequate time to first inwardly infuriate, then react to enact the appropriate repose, another fellow lift communteer, sifts in to position and interacts with said mechanisms with out a wiff of failure or distress. A simple pleasure for a simple journey. This bedevilled device then chauffeurs your new mused envee, to his/her immediate future without a whiff of what has just been.
You are now a passenger. An unfortunate out of control victim of a nonchalant and stubborn creation of a designer/developer/engineer who has apparently met the deadline leaving a few bugs in the system.
The futility of this affair is a charm to some I’m sure, but being the subject of elevator born harassment is quite waring after a time. I can honestly bare witness to this fact of my troubled relationship with the counter-weighted mundane monstrosity that treats me in the fashion of a condescending butler, mute of tongue.
Ironically, I’m moved to become more like my despised dualent for we are both (for the time) highly strung.
