I hate elevators.  They are making me stupid.  Like I get on and I’m going to the *nth* floor and even though the *nth* floor button is already pressed and is clearly the unambiguous destination of the one and only other passenger sentiently standing in the car, my hand compulsively reaches out, nonetheless, to press *nth* again.  As if to indicate to this other person:  *I don’t trust you and I certainly don’t trust the light indicator on that button, so I’m going to press the damn thing myself just to make sure.*  Or maybe: *You pressed this for your nth floor but I haven’t for mine , and certainly if I want to get there, I must press it too, or be forever stranded between floors.*  Lately, I’ve gotten somewhat better and have actually a la Dr. Strangelove arrested in-flight my compulsive-button-pressing hand  with the other, saner one.  But it occurs to me that the whole world is basically divided between single- and multiple-instance button pushers.  And now miserably I’m caught in between.

Yet other things keep occurring making me stupider still.  Like when occasionally I press the wrong floor button on a crowded elevator, I have to decide either to stay dumbly silent hoping in the meantime that someone else will soon get on who will want to get off at the miscued floor—or that coincidentally someone will just get on at that floor—and if not, acting like I don’t have a clue who just farted...Or to ‘fess up right away with a pronouncement of clumsiness and considerately offer to get off at the floor—even though it isn’t my intended one—just so the stop “isn’t wasted. “  And hoping that some others onboard will laugh and help me shrug this off, but dreading someone who might perrtly say “Yes, you should get off.”  because then I’ll surely get belligerent and say “Oh yeah.  Well maybe you should, too.  Or maybe it's just you who should get off.”  which, of course, is usually very stupid since I don’t typically pack my close-quarters elevator brawling weapons on me while many others certainly do.

Sometimes when I get on an elevator alone I forget to press my floor right away and then suddenly, as if possessed by a mind of its own, the elevator starts moving in the other direction.  I was on 5 and I wanted 4 but now its moving towards 6. So I press 6 to get off and reset.  But it’s too late, it’s moving toward 7. So I press 7, too late!  So I press 9, 10, and 11.  But it stops at 8 and somebody gets on who suddenly regresses into the role of unbelieving innocent bystander as they see five buttons pressed and only me onboard.  So I run off on 8 just before the doors close screaming “This elevator is totally psycho.” I’m sure this makes the motionless bystander either feel stupid for getting on an elevator in the first place with someone that they begin to feel they should have judged psycho upon first door-opening impression or stupid for not running off with me as they, too, realize how psychotic and stupid-making  elevators can be.

Oh—and there is the phone call I once got on an elevator phone while riding alone between floors. *ring, ring*  Surprise—a phone!   I opened the wall cupboard and lifted the receiver and said “Hello?”  “Is this the Portland Nuclear Power Plant?” a nervous voice trembled.  OMG, OMG, I thought, *There’s been an explosion!*  I mean, what else to think while boxed in alone on a godless elevator—they make you so paranoid?!  So by necessity of prurient curiosity I said, “Can I help you?” but then immediately regained my bearings and informed the caller that I was in a parking garage elevator in Cleveland OH.  At which point the caller incredulously started gagging and hung-up.  Did I save a life?  Did I waste a life?  I felt so-o-o stupid!

And…and…In the parking garage, for security reasons I usually park my truck on the lonely but highly visible top floor.  But when I return after work at night and get up to the top floor to prepare for my serpentine-winding journey down, everybody congregating at ground level who may have gotten on the single returning elevator after me but gotten off at a still lower floor has a pretty damn good chance of getting in their car and getting to the garage toll both in front of me.  That’s intolerable—I  was here first  (though more distant) !  And I shouldn’t have to wait for them !   So now when I got off at the top floor, I press all of the floor buttons going down so that the elevator must idly stop at every empty floor before reaching the bottom to once again load up the rude horde of competitive parkers.   Consequently, I can now wend and wind  downwards in my truck at a leisurely pace while watching the dumb elevator vomit up emptiness floor by descending floor. 

Damn—wait—I think elevators are finally starting to make me smarter—but evil.