Out of order

In the middle of the night, when most are sleeping, my job is to repair elevators and, sometimes, remove trapped people from them.

On a warm December day in 1988, as a helper, I was sent to a 220 CPS to remove passengers from a stuck elevator. I went via subway with an older gentleman named Donald. Donald had pure white hair which, I assumed, was the color after gray. Donald later retired from two full time jobs. He was a Foreman at American Elevator and, at night, he worked for the MTA.

I held Donald's toolbox as we traveled underground. His toolbox was old too. The worn handle had been repaired many times.

Donald didn't talk much and walked slowly. In 1988 I haven't yet realize that my career-destiny was to fix elevators so I didn't have any interest in talking with him either.

As we emerged from the subway in Columbus Circle I could see the building we needed to get to just down the block. I walked slightly faster. Donald suddenly made a right turn into a deli! I asked "What about the people trapped?" He leaned over and said "They're safe in there. Let's get some coffee."

My addiction to coffee came years later. I got a small container of orange juice and waited for his eggs to cook. We went outside and sat on a bench in Central Park. I couldn't enjoy my oj. I was thinking about people across the street, down the block, stuck in an elevator.

When the right moment had come Donald slowly got up and I picked up his old tool box.

When we entered the lobby the super, Ramon, was standing there. "I just got them out" Ramon said.

Donald whispered to me "That's what we wanted. The building super or a Fireman can get them out. Let someone else be responsible for their safety. We just need to repair the metal junk in the shaft. And if we don't fix it someone else will. No pressure."

The lesson was easy. But I have yet to delay my journey to any elevator entrapment on purpose. During those moments before arrival, the coffee doesn't taste right.