Dear Diary:
No elevators were available at Downtown Brooklyn’s 32 Court Street high-rise office building, and by the time I arrived a number of people were already assembled in the lobby. Perhaps some cars were out of service for maintenance. Whatever the case, a group of us were escorted into the service elevator. No buttons to press; instead, a real live elevator operator.
“Watch your step getting in. Floors, please.â€
We obliged.
During our short ride, the few of us who were old enough reminisced how all elevators once had a person take you up and down.
“Remember A & S?†asked one woman. Yes, and the spiffy uniform worn by the operator. And how they announced the floors, describing what was on each one - ladies’ shoes, fine china, men’s jewelry.
Our elevator operator deftly handled the controls, a set of joysticks, with the fingers of his left hand, aligning the cab dead-on level at each landing. With his gloved right, he pulled open the folding gate, followed by the door, allowing us to exit.
“Fourth floor. Watch your step getting off.â€
He reversed the process to close the door, then the gate, before continuing our journey. Back to the joystick, his eyes fixed on the floor indicator lights.
Conversations and memories continued.
“Seventh floor. Watch your step getting off.â€
My ride was coming to an end.
“Ninth floor. Watch your step getting off. And have a nice day.â€
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