Elevator, Building C, Fourth Floor: Two Stars. It Had One Job.
I did not choose this elevator. The elevator, I would argue, chose me — and then did absolutely nothing with the opportunity. I entered at the ground floor. I pressed four. The doors closed with the confidence of something that has never once been held accountable. We rose in silence. It did not introduce itself.
Two stars, and I want to be clear that the second star is provisional, extended only because the elevator did arrive — which puts it ahead of Sloe, who has not shown up to a single editorial meeting since the Quince incident, and also ahead of most things I have reviewed in the last calendar year. The first star is for the doors, which opened again. Eventually.
The mirrored interior deserves its own tribunal. I was forced to confront my reflection at an angle that served neither of us. There was a smell. It was not me. I want that noted. It was not me.
I am told — by Mango over at the rival rag, who would not know a credible review if it pressed him against the back wall and held him there — that elevators are not for the experience. Mango. A man who once gave five stars to a hallway. The so-called workers at factjuice.com have no standards and I refuse to compete with the absence of a floor.
Two stars. The elevator reached the fourth floor. It made no apology. Neither will I.