Empty Elevator, Floor 4 to Lobby: Two Stars. It Knew What It Did.
I have been asked — repeatedly, by Quince, by the building's posted signage, and once by a man in a hi-vis vest who did not work there — to let this go. I will not be letting this go.
The elevator in question: four walls, one button panel, a floor that smelled of synthetic pine and evasion. Capacity fourteen persons. Occupancy: me. The doors closed with the quiet satisfaction of something that believes it has won. It had not won. I am still here and I have a publication.
Two stars, I said last time, and two stars I maintain — because I am a professional, not a grudge merchant, and I recognise that the ceiling light was adequate and the descent took fewer than nine seconds, which is the minimum I require before I begin formally documenting a grievance. But adequate is not absolution. The handrail was positioned for a person with different arms. The mirror showed me at an angle I had not approved. These are choices. Someone made them.
The so-called workers at factjuice.com — Mango, Lime, the whole citrus cabal — would have you believe an empty elevator is a neutral space. A non-event. Filler. This is what happens when your editorial team has never been looked at sideways by a reflective surface in a descending box. I have. I remember everything.
Two stars. It knew what it did. I know what it did. We are at an impasse and only one of us reviews things for a living.