2024 note: this is one of a series of posts from my old personal blog (2007—2010) that I’ve resurrected. More info here.
My mother has been in a nursing home for a couple of years now, in the advanced stages of Parkinson’s disease. We visit on weekends.
Sadly, the aging elevators at the nursing home often behave in a way that mirrors some residents:
Me: Up, please.
[No elevator comes.]
Me: Up…
[Still no elevator.]
Me: Up!
[Both elevators open.]
Me (stepping in): Sigh… Second floor, please.
[Doors open at the third floor…]
Then a few hours later, leaving the building:
Me (entering passcode on the elevator security control): 12345, down please.
[No elevator…]
Me: 12345, down please.
[Elevator opens, one of the nurses steps out.]
Me: First floor, please.
[Door closes, then nothing.]
Me (after flicking elevator on / off switch): First floor, please.
[Elevator stops on first floor, but only the rear service door opens.]
Me (stepping out, welling up with tears at how bad the situation is getting): See you next week…