Life's ups and downs

The elevator rides here can be tedious. Doors take about 5 seconds too long to close. People ride to go up (or even worse, down) one floor. Long waits for the elevator to even come are standard. I'll often take the stairs for anything less than 6 flights...or use the visitor elevators which are speedier and less crowded.

However, today I found myself on the Lower Level (two floors below 1) needing to go to the ninth floor. After a several minute wait during which quite a few people congregated at the elevator's closed doors, the car finally arrived.

On boarding, I pushed the "9" button. Also lit were "G", "1", "2", "3", and "7". By the fourth stop, we were to the third floor, with only one more stop before I got to nine.

At this point, the unthinkable happened. A nurse in blue scrubs announced to the remaining two of us, "Everybody off. We're here to get a patient." I immediately sensed a "power play" vibe when the other rider hesitated and the nurse addressed her directly, "You have to get off. Patients take priority." With that, she took a key and locked the elevator door open. I peeked outside and saw no patient. Evidently, she was here to retrieve a patient and bring him down to the O.R.

Sure I had the white coat, but I had no key. In this psychological power struggle, I was defenseless, emasculated. Was it worth reasoning with this demigod? Pointing out that we could ride to 7 and 9 and the car could be back to 3 by the time she'd retrieved the patient would be useless. Would there be any hope of evoking pity? Not in a brute like this. Suggesting that she could have informed us at the lower level of her intent to commandeer the elevator would be sure to provoke contempt, not reform. I gathered my white cloak around me and quickly swished out of the elevator, cradling my fragile-yet-still-intact dignity.

My next ride was more pleasant. At one stop going down, two jovial scrub-clad nurses pushing a cart full of candy boarded. Their smiles and cheer were difficult to ignore. Noticing that they both wore clear protective goggles in the elevator, I was reminded that this is Protective Eyewear Week. (I can't wait till Foley Catheter Week in April!) One asked me, "When do you were protective goggles?" At a loss to come up with a clever-yet-sassy reply, I answered, "Well, I would wear protective goggles when I put in a central line." "Thank you for answering correctly!" the other said, "Help yourself to some candy." And just like that, they were gone.

So there I was, having come full circle, back on the Lower Level, battered and bruised by some rather poor elevator etiquette, yet now contentedly munching on a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. My day's karma appeared balanced. Maybe in my next day, I'll wake up to have the elevator key...