After some work and then a nap, I decided I’d get some dinner. It’s a little after 5pm but since I haven’t eaten anything since probably midnight (on the plane), I was ready to brave what this world has to offer. And according to the room service menu, there are cheeseburgers. I will hold that in reserve, though. I recall the last time I was India and we visited a McDonalds. The “cheeseburger” there was definitely not. More so not than the variations you get in the States.
As with any good hotel journey, this one begins with the elevators. There are two in the building, one seemingly stuck always at floor “-1.” I’ve written that one off as the one which failed and crashed through the bottom floor into a permanent grave. Of course, what this means is that the other elevator is in demand, which means a wait.
Once the elevator doors open, I find an energetic conversation in progress between two Indian women and an older Indian gentleman. The gentleman is trying to get off the elevator and the women are trying to get him to see reason that “3” does not equal “lobby.” He looks doubtful, but is eventually coaxed back inside. At this point I enter too, the doors close, and the elevator residents suddenly switch to another language. The gentleman mans the spot near the buttons and is apparently still unconvinced about the floor numerology. Although I cannot understand the conversation, this one is relatively easy to figure out. He moves his finger toward the “2” at which point the ladies raise a fuss. An argument ensues, wherein I do understand the letter “L” being talked about from the ladies. The gentleman removes his threatening finger.
The elevator is pretty slow, too, so there is time for this story to continue on our way down to “L.”
After a moment the gentleman points to another button with the letter “C” on it and begins to threaten a poke at it. The ladies once again engage in spirited debate as to the existential truths of lobby locations, floors labelled with indicators other than “L” and what I can only presume is a respectful agree to disagree stance. The man relents again, but only with severe doubt written on his face.
Finally the doors open at the lobby. The man gets out with his comrades and I do as well. I walk up to the desk and ask where the restaurant is. It is on “C” level. “C” for Chow, I suppose. Alrighty then, back to the elevator.
Standing nearby is the same guy from the trip down, looking lost and confused. I push the button to summon transport to the land of "C." One elevator being still stuck in its untimely negative demise, the other is available and it opens its doors so I enter. And so does Elevator Ernie who can’t resist another elevator challenge. I press “C” and some other new folks press some buttons farther up the stack. Since “C” is immediately above “L” (as is appropriate according to alphabetic and numeric random-order sorting) my floor comes first.
The doors open and I, being nose-up to the door already, ready to make a break for it, am ready. As soon as the doors are about 6 inches apart, some folks behind me decide they need to get out and squeeze around me and out the door. Um, ok. I also then step out, followed by Elevator Ernie. He looks around and asks “2?”
I respect the fact that his mastery of the English spoken language allows us to connect in ways that humans and non-humans will probably never match. However, his grasp of “lift science” is obviously below average. Several folks, including me, say “C” which, had we been in Spain or Mexico would likely have only exacerbated the situation. For better or worse we are NOT in either of those places, but Ernie seems to understand that while “C” is one of those mysterious and unexplainable quantum states of the universe, it is most definitely not “2” and so he returns to the elevator. Months or years from this day, I expect the ghost of Ernie haunting the last elevator here to start appearing in hotel reviews.
As with any good hotel journey, this one begins with the elevators. There are two in the building, one seemingly stuck always at floor “-1.” I’ve written that one off as the one which failed and crashed through the bottom floor into a permanent grave. Of course, what this means is that the other elevator is in demand, which means a wait.
Once the elevator doors open, I find an energetic conversation in progress between two Indian women and an older Indian gentleman. The gentleman is trying to get off the elevator and the women are trying to get him to see reason that “3” does not equal “lobby.” He looks doubtful, but is eventually coaxed back inside. At this point I enter too, the doors close, and the elevator residents suddenly switch to another language. The gentleman mans the spot near the buttons and is apparently still unconvinced about the floor numerology. Although I cannot understand the conversation, this one is relatively easy to figure out. He moves his finger toward the “2” at which point the ladies raise a fuss. An argument ensues, wherein I do understand the letter “L” being talked about from the ladies. The gentleman removes his threatening finger.
The elevator is pretty slow, too, so there is time for this story to continue on our way down to “L.”
After a moment the gentleman points to another button with the letter “C” on it and begins to threaten a poke at it. The ladies once again engage in spirited debate as to the existential truths of lobby locations, floors labelled with indicators other than “L” and what I can only presume is a respectful agree to disagree stance. The man relents again, but only with severe doubt written on his face.
Finally the doors open at the lobby. The man gets out with his comrades and I do as well. I walk up to the desk and ask where the restaurant is. It is on “C” level. “C” for Chow, I suppose. Alrighty then, back to the elevator.
Standing nearby is the same guy from the trip down, looking lost and confused. I push the button to summon transport to the land of "C." One elevator being still stuck in its untimely negative demise, the other is available and it opens its doors so I enter. And so does Elevator Ernie who can’t resist another elevator challenge. I press “C” and some other new folks press some buttons farther up the stack. Since “C” is immediately above “L” (as is appropriate according to alphabetic and numeric random-order sorting) my floor comes first.
The doors open and I, being nose-up to the door already, ready to make a break for it, am ready. As soon as the doors are about 6 inches apart, some folks behind me decide they need to get out and squeeze around me and out the door. Um, ok. I also then step out, followed by Elevator Ernie. He looks around and asks “2?”
I respect the fact that his mastery of the English spoken language allows us to connect in ways that humans and non-humans will probably never match. However, his grasp of “lift science” is obviously below average. Several folks, including me, say “C” which, had we been in Spain or Mexico would likely have only exacerbated the situation. For better or worse we are NOT in either of those places, but Ernie seems to understand that while “C” is one of those mysterious and unexplainable quantum states of the universe, it is most definitely not “2” and so he returns to the elevator. Months or years from this day, I expect the ghost of Ernie haunting the last elevator here to start appearing in hotel reviews.
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