An Elevator Operator Speaks
by
DuckworkerMike
06/29/2009, 1:09 PM #
About thirty years ago, I worked for a summer as an elevator operator and doorman, subbing for people who ordinarily did those jobs so they could take their vacations. I often worked the night shift, and I got a lot of reading done. And I wondered why on earth it was worth it to pay me as much as I was paid (a very handsome sum, thank you union negotiators).
By the end of the summer, I knew the answer. Nominally a door opener and button pusher, I was in fact nothing of the sort. I was a comforter, a security blanket, a helper. This was Chicago, and at 11:00 at night, an otherwise unoccupied elevator might seem a bit unfriendly to a single woman. A dad trying to get a baby and stroller and dog through two locked doors, whether to go in or out, undoubtedly appreciated the help. Being able to leave a package to be collected by a friend, knowing that it was in safe hands provided relief and made life easier. Hailing a cab for what looked (then) like the oldest couple in the universe as they dealt with their walkers and helping them into is and stuffing their folded equipment into the trunk turned us for a few moments into grandparents and a helpful grandson.
Yes, there were long patches of waiting, which I had no trouble filling with thousands of pages of what can't quite be called literature (Saul Bellow, Joseph Heller, Douglas Wallop, Peter De Vries) but when called upon to do the tasks for which I was paid, I did them cheerfully and without resentment. Certainly this is not the sort of work that will result in a place in the history books, but like so many other tasks of the sort-- garbage removal, street light maintenance, bridge inspection, and hundreds more-- it improves the quality of life. It's like art-- you don't need art to live, but it's very pleasant to have around.