“Sir, thank you for your service. As a kid I marveled at the skill of the elevator operators in Detroit’s skyscrapers, zooming up and down, matching the floor level of the elevator to the building’s floor with a single adjustment. And those snappy uniforms - my dream job. Then they automated the elevators and took all the glamor out of it. Bummer. “
I got a kick out of elevator operators when I was a child as well. They always acted like they were god-like captains piloting riverboat elevators and would brook no dissent, with walking the elevator plank as the implied punishment. In reality of course, they were not much higher ranking than the guy who emptied the waste baskets in the offices.
I beg your pardon! We were the face of customer service! And the "big boss" would ride around to make sure that we were smiling at all times.
(Oh gag! He would smoke a cigar, and I could hardly stand it when he got on my elevator. Everybody else had to put out their cigarettes in the sand cylindars outside the elevator doors, but the general manager would NEVER put out his cigar. I would nearly retch each time he boarded my elevator, but I had to keep smiling and greet him pleasantly.)