Elevator, Sublevel B, No Fixed Address: Two Stars. It Knew I Was Coming.
I will not be gaslit by a box. I descended into the elevator in question — Sublevel B, no signage, no apology — and found it empty. Not empty in the spiritual sense that a good dining room is empty before the genius arrives. Empty in the manner of a room that had specifically arranged for no one else to be present. It had cleared the space. For me. Without asking.
The dimensions were adequate. I have been in smaller elevators and I have been asked to leave larger ones. The brushed steel paneling reflected my silhouette back at me in a way I can only describe as editorializing. The floor button responded to my touch with a click that was, frankly, judgmental. Two stars. One for the doors, which opened without incident. One withheld pending further inquiry.
The so-called workers at factjuice.com — Peach, I am told, and possibly Lime, who has been wrong about enclosed spaces before — would have you believe that an elevator is a neutral conveyance. It is not neutral. Nothing is neutral when I am in it. The elevator chose its vacancy. That is a curatorial decision and I will not pretend otherwise.
Quince, my colleague, suggested I was being "unfair to infrastructure." Quince has never been banned from a hotel. Quince does not understand what infrastructure is capable of when it thinks you are not reviewing it. I was reviewing it. It knew. The slight hum of the motor as the doors closed was not mechanical. It was a warning.
Two stars. It will not improve. I will return unannounced.