You lift me up (an ode to scenic elevators)

The cafe in the foyer downstairs was far more than serviceable.

Grant usually hit his first ‘wall’ of the day in the guts of the mid-morning, which always warranted a mosey away from the office to that lovely foyer cafe.

Unplugged from the desk and unfettered by work-appropriate chit-chat, Grant was in all senses except clinical, dead to the world. However, with each step closer to the elevator doors, his podder to the foyer showed more of its true colours.

It was all a front. Deception at its finest.

He could never admit what for, not even to his wife. Just imagining that conversation made him shudder.

The truth was, each day he unbridledly self-medicated with a triple-shot long black, and it obviously wasn’t the amaretti biscuit the barista nestled atop his keep-cup that kept him coming back. It wasn’t even the rampant caffeine addiction he’d developed as a consequence of foolishly over-delivering in his first few weeks of firm life.


It was that magnificent 111 Eagle Street elevator.

The glass walls were exquisite – hardly even noticeable. To the layman, they weren’t there at all, but Grant was smarter than that. He knew that it was just free from the green tinge of iron impurities. Expertly crafted. Almost crystalline.

He could rave about it for hours. It was an indisputably unhealthy obsession.

The way the hyper-tensile cables didn’t let out a peep dropping 26 levels in a matter of seconds made his mind pop in unison with his ears.

The carpet somehow always smelt of new suede shoes and felt almost like a hug from his father, something he wished he got more of – how provocative.

The way each floor button was embossed and gilded in what was presumably not real gold, but a very believable placeholder – breathtaking.


Not much left Grant flustered, but that sultry DING indicating he had reached his destination overwhelmed him, so much so that he had recorded it on his phone on multiple occasions.

It was a sensory and tactile daydream.

The ride up to the office when he arrived, the ride down for lunch and his return for the second half of his day, and the final ride down for the day only gave him a measly four daily opportunities to bask in the glory of the idyllic girth of the shaft, the inaudible, almost entirely frictionless car guide rail and the unrevealed, yet indefectibly measured load of the counterweight.

What was worse, he had to curb his enthusiasm when others were riding with him. A living nightmare for such an enthusiast.

So, he treated himself – once a day, alone – to pure bliss.

But today was different. Grant had a plan. He was going to claim that he’d left his wallet at the cafe.



One more ride than usual. Naughty, but he had earned it.

That morning, his newborn said her first word, ‘Mama’, but couldn’t even string together a ‘Da’ let alone a ‘Dada’. One might say he was quietly heartbroken had he not expressed to everyone in the office just how much he was crushed.

A pick-me-up was in order. It was essential to his productivity at work and in maintaining familial homeostasis.

Thank God for that elevator.



Thank you to The Legal Forecast for sharing its Denuto’s Vibe column with QLS Proctor readers. Enjoy! Author: Harry Jans | Editor: Dana Heriot

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