Nobody freak out.
I can’t find the elevator certificate. It’s missing. Gone. Don’t ask me where it went, don’t ask me how it got there, because I have absolutely no clue. What I do know: every elevator here says the permit for these puppies is in the office — our office. That’s ten lifts, thirty floors, conveying over a thousand people an hour, but it only takes one do-gooder questioning the elevators’ mechanical integrity to bring this whole operation to the ground floor.
So let’s calm down and figure this shit out.
No, there aren’t any copies, Jenn. You know the deal: you get a single permit notarized by the County Inspector of Elevator Certificates; the moment that document leaves their desk, an armed detail escorts it to the elevator or office, where anyone can request to see, touch, smell, or take selfies with it.
Well, you guys are awfully quiet. Anyone want to admit to playing Rock-Paper-Scissors with the elevator permit again? I bet some dunderhead left it at the dry cleaners. If I had a penny every time they gave us back a wrinkled tube sock instead of a freshly pressed elevator certificate , I’d have a walk-up closet.
But I distinctly remember — no, that can’t be…
It was me. I lost the fucking certificate.
This is bad. I’m the Supervisor of Elevator Maintenance; I’m supposed to supervise the certificate. But one moment it’s secured in its car seat as you’re bopping along to Midnight Elevator Classics FM, and the next you’re blearily rocking to sleep a laminated pizza box, not a document or elevator in sight.
Shit, shit, shit, somebody’s coming. I can already tell they’re looking for the certificate. Let’s say it’s really heavy and requires six more people to carry from the basement. Actually, hand me the Out of Order tape; that should slow them down. No, that’s the Restroom Closed For Cleaning placard. Do we at least have the Slippery When Wet sign? Maybe we can distract them with cool elevator facts. “Did you know that the first elevator moved horizontally? It had no buttons. It was a boat.”
What the hell do you mean, nobody will ask to see the permit? This isn’t a food safety permit in some miniscule elevatorless diner, or a worthless employee of the month certificate (no offense, Jenn). If an elevator fails, our entire way of life is in free fall! And I don’t care that nobody in recorded history has inquired about it; that catastrophe just climbed thirty flights of stairs and kicked us right in the elevator shaft.
Oh thank God, they walked right past us. I’m also pretty sure that was a raccoon. It looked just like a tiny elevator inspector wearing a fur coat.
We won’t be so lucky next time.
Maybe we can forge one. Does “elevator” end in ‘er’ or ‘or’? Issued date… Who remembers when we celebrated its birthday? How many days are even in February? And, finished. You guys seem to have this under control so I’m gonna take off. Why’s everyone blocking the door? Jenn, put down your machete. There’s no need to — fine! You want the truth?
For years, the certificate was but a spectacle for brutes who impatiently pry open the jaws of our precious sky carriages. Its ink faded, its edges frayed, yet did you care or even notice when the certificate went missing? So I took it on a roller coaster to experience other directions. I showed the permit its roots in the forest. Then I set it free. You wanna call the cops, usher in an era of oft broken escalators, and rot atop your tenth-floor apartments? Be my guest. Otherwise, step aside as I mount this forgery — forget what you saw today — and take these secrets to your grave:
Inspection Permit
Certified: 2/30/2005
By issue of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania
THE ELEVATIRS ARE DOING GREAT
