Elevator, Parkside Tower, Lobby Level: Two Stars. It Was Thinking About Something.
I did not plan to review this elevator. I rarely plan anything. Planning is for the so-called workers at factjuice.com, who I am told spend their mornings arranging facts into tidy little rows like fruit in a hotel gift basket — the kind of hotel, I should note, that has asked me not to return. This elevator, however, looked at me with that particular blankness that demands accountability.
It was empty when I entered. Suspiciously, aggressively empty. Not the emptiness of a thing at rest, but the emptiness of a thing that had cleared the room before I arrived. I am not paranoid. I have simply been watched by enough parking lots to know the signs. Two stars, provisionally, because at least it acknowledged the floor I pressed — unlike the third-floor vending machine, which I will not be relitigating here, though I note that Tangelo has been sniffing around that story and he can keep his opinions to himself.
The interior smelled of nothing. This is, frankly, an insult. I bring atmosphere wherever I go. Hotels have policies about it. This elevator offered no reciprocity. It simply rose, in silence, as though my presence were a minor inconvenience it had already budgeted for. My colleague Pomelo says I am too hard on enclosed spaces. Pomelo has never been truly ignored.
Two stars. One for the doors, which opened promptly. One because it did not pretend to be a destination, which is more than I can say for the lot behind Fenwick House. Would not recommend. Will return regardless.