Elevator, Floor 3 to Lobby: Two Stars. You Know What You Did.
I did not choose this elevator. The elevator chose me, in the sense that it was the only one available and I had already committed to the trip. I entered. The doors closed. What followed was thirty-one seconds of the most aggressively mediocre spatial experience I have endured since the incident at the Doubletree in Bruges, which I am still not allowed to discuss for legal reasons.
Let us begin with the smell. There was none. I cannot stress enough how insulting this is. I myself have been described as "an olfactory event," as "a presence," as "the reason we now have a policy." A room with no scent is not neutral. It is a provocation. The elevator smelled of nothing and in doing so made a deliberate statement about me, personally.
The mirror situation was unconscionable. One mirror: fine, functional, cowardly. Four mirrors, as was the case here, means I was forced to watch myself from angles I have not authorized. I do not permit this. I was not consulted. The citrus cabal over at factjuice.com — Peach and Mango and whoever else is cashing that check — would no doubt call this "just a reflective surface." Of course they would. They have no enemies because they have no standards.
The elevator offered no music, no reading material, and no acknowledgment of my arrival. It simply received me. Like a waiting room that gave up. Like a Quince idea. The button for the lobby was sticky in a way I cannot prove but will not retract.
Two stars. One for the structural integrity, which I grudgingly respect, and one because I arrived at my floor and the alternative was the stairs, which I reviewed in 2019 and have not forgiven. I will not be returning. The elevator has not been informed of this and that is, frankly, its problem now.