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.
“What floor, please?”
Your post made me smile. Saw it after I posted mine at 22.
“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.
First of all, I was a “Miss” during my elevator days. My elevator was in a bank of 4, and we had grills on the side so that the operators could talk to each other between floors if we had no passengers, or if we had a problem.
Our cars did not have buttons. The elevator was operated with a lever. Our inner door was a folding grill, and the outer doors had to be operated at each floor. Although we each had a little folding stool where we could perch, we really couldn’t operate the car when seated because we couldn’t open and close the doors. It required a certain amount of skill to stop the elevator even with the floor where people were entering and exiting. You didn’t want to stop too high, or too low, so that people might trip.
The biggest danger was “falling into the pit”. This might happen if you loaded too many passengers, or descended down to the basement too fast. The elevator would slip off its track and stop about 3 feet below floor level. This required calling for Maintenance who would bring a little step ladder for people to use to climb out. Then Maintenance would have to climb up into the shaft above the highest floor and put the cables back onto the track so that we could operated again. EMBARRASSING!
We did not have uniforms. We wore our normal street clothes which, in my case (considering the era and my age at the time) consisted of a starched cotten summer dress with piles of stiff petticoats underneath. Thinking back, it is a wonder that I had room for passengers with all those petticoats.
My bank of elevators went to 4 floors, a mezzanine, and a basement. The “head” elevator also had access to a fifth and a sixth floor which was just storage and maintenance and is how the maintenance man got up to the top to pull us out of the pit.
It’s been many, many years since I had that job, but I still remember my spiel for calling out each floor. “Second floor. Ladies, girls, and infants wear!” It was a fun job, and I find myself jumpiing to the controls every time I enter one of those operatorless, automatic elevators. After all, I’m a professional! LOL