As an unintended benefit of my new job, I have the pleasure of working on the 23rd floor of a 32-story building on 40th and 3rd Avenue. This is officially the highest floor of a building I've ever worked in. It symbolizes the meteroic ascendancy of my career. During my days at M3iworks (relax, Linda, I'm not about to write anything you have to sue me over), I worked on the 8th floor of a 10-story building in the pulsing Mexican heart of San Jose, Calilfornia (for the record, San Jose officially has the worst skyline of any city in the United States .. or abroad, for that matter. I know all about the laws prohibiting any buildings over 12-stories because of the nearby airport, but that is little consolation. Their skyline consists of about seven buildings of 10-stories or less that jut into the air like the thick thumbs of obese, balding men. This accurately describes my five years spent there). Upon moving to New York, I began work on the 12th floor of a 12-story building. As I had gotten older and moved into a better career path, this elevation of working floors seemed fitting. And now, as my career surges forward with the power of a water-conserving toilet flush, I find myself on the 23rd floor. Yes, I know what you are thinking. It is the same number the immortal Michael Jordan once wore ... without the floor part, of course.
After my initial elation of having advanced so far in my life I could work on such a high floor, I quickly realized an immense drawback to the high-floor location. For the sake of your own personal experience, I shall create a scenario for you:
It is 1:24 PM. You decide it is time for lunch. Today, you are thinking you'll head over to Subway for the $5.48 Turkey Sandwich meal (6" Turkey on wheat, no cheese, green onions, peppers, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper with Baked Lays and 2-calorie lemonade). You head over to the elevator lobby and press down. You are expecting a wait, as it is lunch time and about 193,000 people are trying to use the same elevators. So you wait. And wait. Lucky day! You hear melodic chirp of the elevator. An elevator opens after only a wait of two minutes. You step in, where the elevator has only two other people in it. The Ground Floor button has already been pressed. The doors close, like steel curtains.
You begin moving down. You don't get very far - to floor 22, to be exact. The doors open, one person gets on, the doors close.
The elevator moves down again. To floor 21. The doors open, two people get on, the doors close. The elevator moves down. To floor 20.
I shall condense the remaining time with the following:
Floor 20. Stop. Doors open. People Enter. Doors close. Elevator goes down.
Floor 19. Stop. Doors open. People Enter. Doors close. Elevator goes down.
Floor 18. Stop. Doors open. People Enter. Doors close. Elevator goes down.
Floor 17. Stop. Doors open. People Enter. Doors close. Elevator goes down.
Floor 16. Stop. Doors open. People Enter. Doors close. Elevator goes down.
Floor 15. Stop. Doors open. People Enter. Doors close. Elevator goes down.
Floor 14. Stop. Doors open. People Enter. Doors close. Elevator goes down.
At this point, roughly an hour has passed, and my blood sugar is low enough I have trouble keeping consciousness. I'm shoved between a hairy Pakistani woman and some 83-year old man whose cane is pressing into my ass. To experience the scent, I recommend you go find a dead male otter and bury your nose in its ball sack. By the time the doors finally open onto the ground floor, and people spill forth like ink shot from an octopus' eyes, my lunch break is over. So I have to turn around and get back on the elevator. Of course, all the people waiting in the lobby to go up crowd in. Unsuprisingly, they all work on a different floor. So you can experience this with me, as well, I shall provide the sequence.
Floor 14. Doors open. People get off. Doors close. Elevator moves up.
Floor 15. Doors open. People get off. Doors close. Elevator moves up.
Floor 16. Doors open. People get off. Doors close. Elevator moves up.
Floor 17. Doors open. People get off. Doors close. Elevator moves up.
Floor 18. Doors open. People get off. Doors close. Elevator moves up.
Suffice to say, by the time I get back to floor 23, the work day is over. So i go get my bag, head to the elevator and ... I'm guessing you have the picture at this point.
This has definately put a thorn in my plans to one day work in the Penthouse floor of the Chrysler Building. Unless, of course, I am built a private express elevator.
In any event, it is about midday. Time for me to not go get lunch.