Upstairs, Downstairs

I went to an art exhibit on Friday at Augsburg College.  To access the gallery, I had to take the freight elevator up to the second floor.  In older buildings that were designed with no thought given to the needs of visitors with disabilities, the freight elevator is the de facto structural accommodation.  For me, riding in freight elevators is one of life’s minor annoyances, on the same level as narrow store aisles and snow drifts piled up directly in front of curb cuts.  Freight elevators are dimly lit places that always seem to smell of yeast and mayonnaise.  When I use a freight elevator, I get a vague feeling that I’m trespassing and that sooner or later someone from security will appear to escort me from the premises.  The only good thing about freight elevators is that most of them are pretty spacious, which is more than I can say for the elevators in my building. 

 

I’m not sure what I’d do if I ever got stuck in an elevator.  I’m actually a little surprised that hasn’t happened to me yet.  If it does, let’s hope that the people with whom I’m trapped are at least interesting and somewhat hygienic.