Elevator Games

When I was a small child, my father the professor would go to his office on Saturdays to catch up on work, grading papers or some such, and I would tag along.

The building was deserted and quiet on weekends. While Father did his work behind his closed office door, I had the run of the corridors, the stairwells, and best of all – the elevator.

Push the button and it will come. The muffled murmer of the motor, the door opening silently, majestically – the first time it happened was always the best. Powerful yet respectful, a gentle servant, there to do my bidding.

Into the cab on 3, push G, wait for the door to close, feel the slight lift when downward motion begins, the subtle pressure of stopping, then push 2, get off, race up the stairs, try to beat the elevator. Could I win against my own servant? I would set up contests.

Ten million years later the game ended. The crowds never returned that Monday, nor Tuesday, nor the thousands upon thousands of Mondays and Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Thursdays and Fridays that followed. Yet never did I tire of roaming the corridors, and never did my servant fail me. At the end of the ten millionth year, I finally had enough of the game and knocked on my father's door.