Undeniably the worst elevator on campus…
It’s 10 am on a Monday, and you have ten minutes to get from Knox Hall on 122nd Street to the sixth floor of Hamilton. You’ve rushed through Broadway, waited in the long NoCo line to swipe your ID to get into your own campus, you’ve weaved around Uris and Low and the many people walking on their phones. You know the professor will question you in front of the whole class if you’re late. You’re approaching Hamilton. Victory is almost in sight. And that’s when you see the line for the elevator is at least 20 people long.
Oh, Hamilton Elevator, how do I name all your faults?
To start with, you are so small. Just ridiculously tiny. With backpacks included, I’ve never seen it fit more than seven people, and that’s with people taking their backpacks off and putting them on the ground. And that line is often much more than seven people. Once, I had to wait three whole rounds of elevator rides before it was my turn to take it four floors up.
Next, you are so slow. It’s not just waiting in the line that makes taking the elevator an inefficient use of my time; it’s also riding the elevator. That thing gently creaks up with no care for people who have places to be. Maybe it’s the terrible, fast-paced mindset I’ve acquired from being a college student in New York City, but I just wish it were faster.
I hate you, too, Hamilton Elevator, for the ethical quandaries you make me ponder. By the elevator entrance is a sign indicating that its priority use is for disabled people and that able-bodied people should take the stairs. There’s no need for that sign by Diana’s two gigantic elevators because they are big enough that the space doesn’t need to be rationed. Hamilton’s is so small it needs a sign to remind people that some students cannot take the stairs and remain in reasonable health, which is where the ethical quandaries come in.
I, personally, am disabled—although I don’t look it. There are days when I can take the stairs four flights without sacrificing my health, and there are other days when that’s absolutely not the case. But there is simply no way to prioritize disabled people in that line without forcing them to reveal their medical history to the world. I’ve stood in that line many times and (mentally) ranted and raved about how annoying it is to be a disabled person standing in this line. I’ll admit, I’ve skipped the line before and just gone in. I’m not not proud of it. But I always feel guilty for a minute, wondering if my actions are making another disabled person have to wait longer.
Do you know what would fix this? A better elevator. You know what isn’t a realistic, immediate solution? A better elevator.
But for the life of me, I cannot think of what would be a realistic and immediate solution. I don’t think making the elevator into a swipe-access system is the way to go, because that makes it harder for people with temporary injuries limiting their mobility.
Able-bodied people reading this, this might just be your sign to take the stairs in Hamilton every once in a while. Given that this is your second sign, I hope it’s the one that sticks. But trust me when I say I don’t think that you are the problem. It is the ridiculously tiny, ridiculously slow Hamilton Elevator that becomes the bane of my existence every Monday.