New York City is known for its scenic views – the glorious Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State Building, the “fresh air” of Central Park. These tourist snapshots are just a window away for some lucky sheep. Many corporate companies even have accessible decks and rooftops overlooking these regal spots. The incentive for to stay in these pricey locations more than obvious: build an ambiance that makes employees want to come back.

Then there are the unlucky, glass half empties of the working world, who enviously dream of these triumphant offices, in which a 30 minute lunch break means peace and not a local loony yell, “Go f$%K yourself”.

And that is the exact the category where this little happy receptionist thrives.

For those who are identifying with the latter of the two scenarios, we work for bosses who would think “feng shui” is something inedible from the Chinese takeout menu.

For 8 hours a day I stare an at elevator. I like to believe before the model shipped out a decade ago, this particular elevator was dubbed by his other elevator friends as, “The Little Engine That Couldn’t.” Did I just give Pixar their premise for “Toy Story 4″? (If that’s the case, I would at least would like to be cast as the elevator’s voice).

In this advanced age of technology, there has yet to be a repair company that can fix the elevator at my office for more than a week. It’s as if the elevator has an open hate for every employee at the company and expresses it through mood swings.

If running late, you better believe the elevator will choose to get stuck on ground level. If there is anything to heavy to carry downstairs, you better believe that the elevator will choose to take a nap. If someone is slow, the elevator will try to jam its doors closed until someone screams “OW!!!!”

As a result, people turn to me. You know, the urban legend is that only receptionists can read an elevator’s mind. We’ve long trained to be elevator whisperers.

I switch between letting the never-ending question, “Is the elevator working?” be rhetorical or providing a witty answer. Either way I get to watch highly educated adults throw tantrums when the only option is taking the stairs. It’s a similar reaction to seeing a kid not get picked up from soccer practice — mixture of anger and disappointment. I could understand if this was Crystler Building. Descending 77 floors would clearly be burdensome. However, my colleagues, whom shall not be named, are putting up a Whinefest 2010 about four flights of stairs! Four freaking flights people! Put a fork in it, and burn some calories.

Either way I get to watch highly educated adults throw tantrums when the only option is taking the stairs.

If a lot of complaints are circulated about the inefficiencies of the elevator (aka, “lost work time”), I anticipate an appearance by our old building manager. I’ve been here long enough to know that his presence means one of three things:

- He will call me “Chica Bonita” and then proceed to mutter words under his breath.
- He will talk to me in Spanish for 20 minutes, and I will shoo him away be saying, “trabajo”, over and over again.
- He will show me how to massage to the doors of the elevator in order to make it work again (which surprisingly is the only successful solution).

And don’t be jealous that I get to watch my coworker, the elevator, get a massage on the regular without it being illegal.

Related Posts

1. 
   
   Infographic: Hardly Working (A Look into Laziness in the Workplace)
2. 
   
   Hey Nelly, the Elevator Doors Don’t Take Credit Cards
3. 
   
   Corporate Jargon for the Rest of Us

---