Wired Mesh

The Closing of the American Elevator

It is a common complaint that Americans are rapidly losing their ability to perform basic functions. A great many people have lost the skills required to read polysyllabic words, or to make change for a dollar, or to comprehend the significant, mysterious hieroglyphs that are the hands of a clock. This ignorance is traditionally blamed, as are most social ills, upon our school system.

But in the last three months, I have become aware of an incompetence that makes all these other defaults seem like the eccentricities of a Rhodes Scholar. There are a surprising amount of people in Chattanooga who cannot understand how to use an elevator. I cannot blame this on the schools. If you are too dumb to use an elevator, Maria Montessori herself could have done nothing for you.

The elevators in the Erlanger Hospital Medical Mall, in which I ride every day, are large and efficient wood-panelled rooms. Whenever one arrives in the main lobby, a loud but not unpleasant bell sounds, alerting the waiting doctors and patients that transport has arrived. Above each elevator door are two massive lights, each the size of a child's head. On each of these lights is painted an arrow: one points up, the other points down. When the doors of a particular elevator slide open and the bell rings, the appropriate light points the direction in which the elevator is travelling. If the elevator is going up, the "up" arrow flashes on in an orange blaze. If the capsule is going down, the downward-pointing arrow comes to bright life. Let me repeat: there is an orange arrow, the size of a preadolescent's head, helpfully positioned above the door, showing which of two ways the machine is traveling.

This apparently confuses people.

In my short time travelling these elevators, I cannot begin to count the people who haven't been able to figure out which direction a machine is going. At first I was annoyed by these people, then I became rather amused. Now, the longer this trend stretches on unabated, I have become fascinated and have started to analyze these people. They fall into basic categories, these People Who Cannot Understand Elevator Direction:

The Askers: These people stare into the elevator, as if fascinated by something shiny bouncing around the inside of the compartment. They look around, as if checking for some sort of sign that might inform them whether the large arrow is in fact telling the truth, or whether it is an evil Cartesian elevator demon, attempting to damn them to a long journey downward. Then they ask me (for I am unfailingly standing there, holding the door open): "Is it going up?"

"No," I say, dashing their hopes. "It is going down." They are terribly crestfallen. Their crests hit the floor. "Oh," they say, putting on a brave face. "I'll just wait then."

The Arguers: Much the same as the askers, but in a group. While I stand with my finger faithfully applying pressure to the "Door Open" button, these people, almost always obviously related, debate amongst themselves which direction the elevator might be going. While some in the group may be confused and concerned, there is always one person, usually a grandmother, who is certain of the direction, and of the stupidity of her clan. She is invariably wrong. When her mistake is discovered, it sends a rippling shock wave through her group. They often -- I promise I am not exagerating -- become confused about which direction they originally wanted to go. Often they will ask me. I always suggest whichever direction will take them to the ground floor, where they will at least be close to food.

The Sheepishly Oblivious: These people board the elevator, push the button for the opposite direction that the machine is travelling, and settle against the wall for their expected one flight journey down to the basement. They then feel the elevator beginning its rise to the eigth or tenth floor. They gaze around the room, embarassed. I like these people. They have learned a lesson.

The Completely Oblivious: They do the same thing as The Sheepishly Oblivious, but never seem to notice that they are going the wrong way. I stare at these people intently: surely they will realize their error. Alas, they never do, at least not by the time I reach my floor. I suspect some of them are perpetually stuck on an elevator, riding constantly in the wrong direction.

The Tempers: These people are the rarest, but also the most consistently entertaining. They pust their button, feel the elevator heading the opposite way, and become immensely agitated. "Are we going up?" they ask in a tone of voice that suggests that someone has seriously screwed this up, and that person is going to pay. "I wanted to go down."

I try not to anger them futher. "Bummer," I say, my mouth twitching cheerily. "Maybe next time."

Posted by mesh at September 29, 2003 04:10 PM | TrackBack