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The Fourth Floor
May. 30th, 2007 08:21 pmWhen I was small (and yes, I have been smaller), I used to be very scared of lifts. I wouldn't go on one if I could help it, instead opting to climb twelve flights of stairs whenever we visited anyone in an Aberdeen block of flats rather than be shut in a metal box for thirty seconds. I don't think that it was claustrophobia, but it was more a fear of not being able to get out again - everything in them happens according to some invisibile mechanical brain, and you can't see where it's taking you. Somehow I was all right with the one in the Bon Accord Centre (which I had to go back and correct after spelling it "Center"), as that was entirely made of glass and you could see where you were going as you moved between the three floors, or of course, shot through the roof.
I somehow got used to them after that, but having to experience the lifts in the Vanguard building have put new fear into me over the six months that I've worked there. It's bad enough that you have to wait about ten minutes for one of the two to arrive, and that they take so long to go anywhere - it's like the London Underground stood on its end and reduced to four stops, and I spend just about as much time waiting for the lifts during the day as I do on the red line leg of my commute. Now, most of the building is made up of parts of a medical centre so there are a significant amount of people in it who genuinely can't climb stairs, so it's natural that the lifts should get a lot of use throughout the day. That's fair enough. But regularly you'll see a perfectly able-bodied staff member get on at the second floor (after waiting about five minutes for the lift, I might add) and ride up to the third floor, further delaying the whole process. This is a sure recipe for heart problems.
One of them had emergency repairs done to it last week (the lifts, not the staff members), but I can't see any difference as to its method of operation - it still takes half an hour to go anywhere, the light still flickers, the metal bar at the back is still close to detachment and the Close Front and Back Door buttons don't do anything no matter how hard you press them. The buttons are vital defence methods when you're stuck with an escaped mental patient who insists on rabbiting on about when he was in Vietnam, or believes that the burrito that you got for lunch is actually a bottle of spirits in a brown paper bag, and have to cut the journey as short as possible. In fact, the only difference I saw was that it smelled slightly worse than before as someone had tried spraying an overly sweet air freshener around it.
The lift does have a certificate in it saying that it passed an inspection, but when it was replaced last time it was about three months overdue and we're fairly certain that they just photocopy the certificate every few months and alter the date on it. I can now recognize the timings of each and every characteristic of this lift on its upward journey:
On leaving 1st floor: Knocking sound from under the floor.
If stopping on second floor: Slight swing from side to side.
Just after passing 3rd floor: Hideous grinding noise from upper left corner.
On arriving at fourth floor: Hold, vibrate...
Finally: And drop a couple of inches, then open - whereupon people get out as soon as possible, glad to have made it out alive.
So why do I even use them at all if I can't stand them? Well, there's a very good reason. Naturally, after a couple of mornings of the lift ride of death I had decided that it really wasn't worth the time and risk involved, and opted to take the stairs instead. However, that plan failed when I realized that the main staircase in the middle of the medical centre only went up to the third floor. The route to the fourth floor continues only through two rather narrow fire stairs at either end of the building that you can only enter on the first floor. Further, you can't get into the fourth floor from those stairs either - the door only opens in one direction, so you have to take the lift up if you're heading to the top floor offices.
I happened to ask another fourth floor worker about this arrangement soon after starting, and he explained to me that it was because there had been a large break-in not long before I started working in the building. To counteract that, he explained, the fourth floor doors were kept locked from one side so that people couldn't get in during the night - but so the workers could get to their offices at all hours, the lifts were just locked out of the second and third floors rather than being turned off entirely after everyone else had gone to bed.
"So what stops people from getting in and taking the lift up to the fourth floor instead?" I asked.
"Oh," he said, after a pause. "I never thought of that."
This is what they're paying me for - Great British intellect.
I somehow got used to them after that, but having to experience the lifts in the Vanguard building have put new fear into me over the six months that I've worked there. It's bad enough that you have to wait about ten minutes for one of the two to arrive, and that they take so long to go anywhere - it's like the London Underground stood on its end and reduced to four stops, and I spend just about as much time waiting for the lifts during the day as I do on the red line leg of my commute. Now, most of the building is made up of parts of a medical centre so there are a significant amount of people in it who genuinely can't climb stairs, so it's natural that the lifts should get a lot of use throughout the day. That's fair enough. But regularly you'll see a perfectly able-bodied staff member get on at the second floor (after waiting about five minutes for the lift, I might add) and ride up to the third floor, further delaying the whole process. This is a sure recipe for heart problems.
One of them had emergency repairs done to it last week (the lifts, not the staff members), but I can't see any difference as to its method of operation - it still takes half an hour to go anywhere, the light still flickers, the metal bar at the back is still close to detachment and the Close Front and Back Door buttons don't do anything no matter how hard you press them. The buttons are vital defence methods when you're stuck with an escaped mental patient who insists on rabbiting on about when he was in Vietnam, or believes that the burrito that you got for lunch is actually a bottle of spirits in a brown paper bag, and have to cut the journey as short as possible. In fact, the only difference I saw was that it smelled slightly worse than before as someone had tried spraying an overly sweet air freshener around it.
The lift does have a certificate in it saying that it passed an inspection, but when it was replaced last time it was about three months overdue and we're fairly certain that they just photocopy the certificate every few months and alter the date on it. I can now recognize the timings of each and every characteristic of this lift on its upward journey:
On leaving 1st floor: Knocking sound from under the floor.
If stopping on second floor: Slight swing from side to side.
Just after passing 3rd floor: Hideous grinding noise from upper left corner.
On arriving at fourth floor: Hold, vibrate...
Finally: And drop a couple of inches, then open - whereupon people get out as soon as possible, glad to have made it out alive.
So why do I even use them at all if I can't stand them? Well, there's a very good reason. Naturally, after a couple of mornings of the lift ride of death I had decided that it really wasn't worth the time and risk involved, and opted to take the stairs instead. However, that plan failed when I realized that the main staircase in the middle of the medical centre only went up to the third floor. The route to the fourth floor continues only through two rather narrow fire stairs at either end of the building that you can only enter on the first floor. Further, you can't get into the fourth floor from those stairs either - the door only opens in one direction, so you have to take the lift up if you're heading to the top floor offices.
I happened to ask another fourth floor worker about this arrangement soon after starting, and he explained to me that it was because there had been a large break-in not long before I started working in the building. To counteract that, he explained, the fourth floor doors were kept locked from one side so that people couldn't get in during the night - but so the workers could get to their offices at all hours, the lifts were just locked out of the second and third floors rather than being turned off entirely after everyone else had gone to bed.
"So what stops people from getting in and taking the lift up to the fourth floor instead?" I asked.
"Oh," he said, after a pause. "I never thought of that."
This is what they're paying me for - Great British intellect.
