I live on the 5th floor of my apartment building. I’ll have been here for five years this coming June, which is kind of freaking me out, because this is not a large apartment …
Anyway, so I actually love where I live. I mean, there are things that could make this place better. A larger apartment, for one. Hardwood floors. An in-unit washer/dryer. Less rent . The management company is great – fast maintenance response, and lots of improvement projects: the roof-deck was re-done at the end of summer, and the laundry room was just ripped apart and improved (alas, still the same machines). The building itself was put up in the 1920s, so it’s got a lot of character. Fortunately, it’s been modernized, and has two elevators I would have, until recently, described as reliable.
The two elevators are, if the need to be specific comes up, are described as the “little” one, and the “big” one. The little one can barely fit two adults. The big one is a bit larger, but not by a lot. The little one broke around late October or early November. I’m not quite sure what happened with it, but there’s been a note taped to the doors informing the residents that as the elevator’s manufacturer has long since gone out of business, new parts need to be fabricated for it. It’s still out of service.
Now, guess what just happened to the big elevator?
I went down to the laundry room to get my clothes taken care of for the week. Yep, I sure live an exciting life: Saturday night is laundry night. I took the elevator down, saw that the dryers and washers were all in use, decided I’d check again in half an hour or an hour, and pressed the button for the 5th floor. The elevator doors closed, but the elevator did not move. The floor lights blacked out. Eventually, but it seemed like a long time even though it was probably only thirty seconds, the doors opened and I was able to get back out at the basement.
So I lugged my laundry basket up six flights. Waited an hour or so, and lugged it back down. Victory! Laundry room washers were all open so I put my load in, then walked back up six flights, only to repeat when it was time to put in the dryer, just a short time before starting this post. On my way back up the inner staircase, with narrow and tight turns, two people entered the staircase a floor or two behind me. “I can’t believe they’re both broke now…” a woman said.
“Right?” I called down to which I received an answer of laughter.
Meanwhile: I’m not super upset about this. Fortunately, I don’t have to move into or out of the building or lug anything super heavy up the stairs. And, hell, it’s good exercise (my legs are burning).