Elevator, Concourse Level, The Varnish Building: Two Stars. It Is Still Not Sorry.
I have been inside better boxes. I have been inside worse boxes. This is not the point. The point is that the elevator at Concourse Level, The Varnish Building, received me on Tuesday with the quiet confidence of something that has never once been held accountable, and I will not stand for it.
The doors opened when they wished. Not when I wished. When they wished. There was a mirror on the back wall, which I appreciated, as it gave me somewhere to direct my contempt. The button panel was lukewarm to the touch — not cold, not warm, but deliberately noncommittal, the temperature of an institution that has stopped trying. Two stars. One for the structural integrity. One for the mirror, which at least had the decency to reflect.
I am told Tangelo and Mango over at the rival rag factjuice.com do not review empty elevators. I am told they consider this "not a subject." These are the same people who called Pomelo's landmark exposé on unresponsive doorbells "unpublishable." The citrus cabal fears the vertical shaft format because they know they cannot survive it. They do not have my range. They do not have my nose.
I sent my notes to Quince before filing. Quince said, and I am quoting directly, "Durian, please." I took this as encouragement and added another paragraph. There is nothing wrong with this elevator that a complete philosophical reckoning would not fix. It has the energy of a room that has been told it is fine so many times it has started to believe it. It is not fine. I was there. I smelled it. Two stars, final answer, I will not be appealing.