Movable Stairs & Dead Chivalry

I've discovered escalators in the 1950's office building where my office is located. They are hidden behind some doors in back of the elevator bank. Do you remember that weird pinky-beige that was so popular in the late 50's and early 60's? If you do, then you know exactly what these escalators look like. They are in an enclosed stairwell of sorts, and I guess they just rumble along all day, although few people seem to use them.

They came in very handy over the past couple of weeks, because the elevators were verplunkt. First, one elevator broke down, and then, in a sympathetic gesture, the second elevator followed suit. There is a third set of elevator doors, but rumor has it that there is no actual lift, and that the builders just put them there to add an air of solvency and prosperity to the railroad company that occupied the building initially. Finally, the escalator between the first and second floors joined the fun of the mechanical strike. The freight elevator was pressed into passenger service.

Many people grumbled about taking the freight elevator, especially Jessie from Building Maintenance because he had to run the thing up and down all day long. I just took the stairs or the escalator, although I did take Jessie a piece of chocolate cake one day to keep his spirits from flagging. The odd thing is that the moving stairs only go up to the fourth floor, and my office is on the sixth. I conjecture that originally the lower floors were staffed by secretarial pools and general office staff, so they were told to ride the escalators, while the executives took the elevators to the upper levels. Who knows?

I loved escalators and revolving doors when I was a small child. From my vantage point in a department store, I could see the on/off buttons at the base of the escalators, right below where the thick rubber handgrip disappeared. I always itched to switch the machinery off, but the fear of consequences kept me in check. I was also afraid that my shoes would get sucked into those toothy grooves at the end of the ride, and my feet would be mangled. It was part of the thrill of disembarking. It paid to be nimble.

Another thing I remember about shopping with my mom when I was little is the small bells that were scattered through some departments below a sign that said "Ring Bell for Service." I caught hell for that one.

My cousin Janet tried to enlist Aunt Magenta's help with the wedding invitations. Janet has selected them and an order is in preparation for shipment. Janet thought Aunt Magenta could help from home by assembling the invitations, and stamping & posting them. This task, which appeared so deceptively simple at first glance, became such a mare's nest that I offered to accept delivery at my office. I'll do the stamping and mailing, which will be no bother at all for me. I get package delivery all the time at work. I got a breathless note from Aunt Magenta along with the stamps, cautioning me to have the post office weigh the invitations to be sure they will not require extra postage. Noted.

The other day as I was returning from the bank to the office, I noticed a woman ahead of me a ways down the hall. She was, I can only assume, returning to her workplace from the ladies room. She wore slacks, and a blouse intended to hang loose all around. A casual, professional look. The problem was that half of the back of her blouse was tucked into her underwear. As I debated the wisdom of hollering "Hey, lady! Your blouse is stuck in your drawers from your trip to the loo!" she disappeared into the office across the hall from mine. Thank goodness! I don't know her, and she may have been mortified to see me ever after. She works in a suite of off-site university offices with several other women, and I'm sure one of them was happy to smugly point out her wardrobe malfunction. I'm still not sure if I was chivalrous, or merely shirking an unpleasant act of decency.

Oh, and the coolest thing about taking the stairs occured to me after one of the elevators was repaired. Just a little over a year ago, I was too weak from malnourishment and alcohol abuse to make it up the stairs in my own home. I am grateful that today I have the good health and stamina to walk up to the sixth floor. So I still take the stairs a couple of times each day.