Lift and Separate

The passenger lift at the office where I work is broken.

I admit that in the first few days and weeks of moving to the building on an out of town Business Park there were a few moments when the temptation of riding up and down between floors was strong. I found it difficult but I managed to maintain a level of professionalism and age-appropriate behaviour that kept me away from the shiny glass and stainless steel apparatus.

I do like gadgets and mechanical things and so there was more than just a passing interest. It was a case of convincing myself that it was nothing special, that lift. After all, the premises were only over 2 floors. It was entirely possible to actually walk up the stairs in shorter time than it would have taken to go through the operating procedure and so the thrill and one-upmanship of automatic vertical travel would hardly be as elevating as you would hope.

The primary reason for the Architect to specify a lift will have been to meet access requirements for disabled users and visitors but with advantages for the chubby delivery man from the office suppliers and for the movement of furniture upon the arrival of the next collection of tenants.

In design the lift was sleek and functional. Stainless steel lining. A subtle variation of laser etched textured surfaces. Non slip floor. Tinted glass door. The up and down buttons were oversized like on a toddlers activity set. It was child's play to use and as exciting as a new toy for all that. From my ground floor office just across the entrance hall from the lift shaft I would listen out for the distinctive low resonance whirring of the mechanism as the slack in the multi-twined cables was taken up by the first rotations of the winding gear.

There would be, perhaps, a few feelings of envy for those partaking in a ride when I was otherwise bogged down in my own workload. The lift and those using it represented an altogether more glamorous existence in my mind. However mundane the actual job they were doing in those upstairs office suites ,the prospect of regular use of the lift would be ample excitement.

Gradually my sensitivity to the noise of the lift lessened and like those who live next to a busy railway line or main road, and always make a point of saying so, it was soon a case of being completely oblivious to any activity or indeed notice of it.

I was therefore distressed by the arrival of a Lift Engineer and his declaration to all occupants of the building that the thing was broken and in no way capable of operation.

The black and yellow safety tape was draped around like the crime scene of a mechanical murder.

I suspected that the upstairs tenants were guilty of mis-use of the lift.

They worked funny hours, being the first to arrive in the morning and always last to leave at dusk.

Who knows what they got up to when the building and the wider Business park became otherwise deserted. I could imagine them racing madly around the circuit of stairs and lift trying to establish a personal best or staff record or abusing the lift just to go to the lower floor washroom or to fetch things from their parked cars in the communal courtyard area on the smallest whim or fancy.

If there was an equivalent of the mile high club for a two storey lift then they will have done the deed and got the honour badge for it, for sure.

If I came across the upstairs lot in normal office hours they always lowered their heads and mumbled or giggled incessantly as though party to a great and mutual secret. It must be an 'in joke' about the lift.

The Engineer did his best.

The cables and gears were stripped out and laid bare in the lobby or out in the open between the entrance door and his tooled-up van. I passed a few moments on a regular basis chatting with him about his favourite elevators and he was happy to talk about his passion and what was, for him, the ideal livelihood. He had worked on other mechanical equipment but passenger lifts were his forte.

I had an ulterior motive for my engaging him in conversation. The culprits behind the apparent destruction of the lift had to be brought to account for their misdemeanours. I introduced to him the idea that there were individuals not a million miles away in the building , (I pointed vaguely skywards) who had the motive and opportunity to wreak havoc with a piece of finely tuned equipment as this. He listened attentively and I took this to mean that he was indeed gathering evidence to present to the owner of the property. There would be recriminations and a valid basis for compensation and damages for the landlord, I was convinced of that.

I was therefore astounded when the root cause of the problem was explained to me.

The lifting gear of wheels, pulleys and cables had a small reservoir of lubricating oil which, upon every operation when called by a passenger, would release a calculated amount. It was almost like a spray per use procedure. An exact trickle of lubricant to facilitate the smooth and efficient movement of the mechanicals.

With this disclosure by the Engineer I could sense a tone of disappointment, almost an accusation of negligence directed at me. I could see where he was going with that attitude. Here I was, a grown man with almost exclusive access to a lift and with, apparently by his perception, ample time to use it legitimately. It was true, I had let him down to an inexcusable level. I had not played in the lift any where near enough and as a direct consequence of my inaction I had condemned it to death. I, like the lift, was out of order.