Bwogger Abi expresses her love for the Carman service elevator. 

Just average elevators. Not worthy of my love and affection.

Dear Carman Service Elevator (or Ellie as I affectionately refer to you in my head),

I think you know why I’m writing you this letter. Over the past few weeks I’ve noticed we have been getting closer and closer and I just need to voice my appreciation for you.

Ellie, you’re always there for me when I need you. When the glares I get for taking the regular

elevator are too much to deal with, I turn to you. When I can’t face the endless flights of stairs, you’re there. When I want to be encased in suspicious looking steel walls, I know I can count on you. Because those of us that live on the third floor have feelings too, we too have a desire not to wilt on the Carman staircase, destined to a life of endless stairs. In my sleep I see stairs, my legs moving even when sitting. The memory of the stairs never leaves me.

Ellie, you understand me, you never judge me. When we’re alone together, encased in your suspicious looking steel walls, I can be myself. Only then do I dare to proudly press the button for floor three, my hands no longer trembling in shame.

Ellie, you’re always there when I need you. Positioned right next to my door, I thank my lucky stars that I met you. I’ll always remember the day I discovered you, worn down after another episode of floor discrimination, there you were, in the corner of my eye. Tentatively, I pressed the button, could it be, I thought, an elevator all of my own? Yes, it was true. A haven of quiet at the end of a tiring Monday, a questionable Friday or a sleepy Sunday. Any time, any day, you’ll be there.

All my love,

Abi