I'm coming to understand the peculiar misery of elevators. Like most miseries, it has a lot to do with where you're from and where you're going.

I work on the 9th floor of a 14 floor building.

In the morning when I am rushing, I feel anger towards the people who stick a newspaper in between the closing doors. I feel anger towards those who hit the button for floors 3 and 4. 2 is inconceivable. When someone stops the elevator from closing AND their destination is a lower floor? There's me quietly fuming in the corner.

My standards for acceptable elevator stops is stricter on downward trips. It is ridiculous to me when there's a stop at 5. I always think the same thing: you could FALL down those flights faster than the time it takes to wait for a ride.

And yet here's me feeling unwonted guilt for hitting the button for 9 when all the previously lit buttons are 10 or higher. Do those fellow riders see me as a 3?

And here's me feeling overwhelming sympathy for the unfortunate who work on the top floor, never mind their beautiful view. An uninterrupted trip must be a rare treat for them. And they, more than any of the rest of us, bear the entitlement and the burden to ride, to wait.

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