On Lifts
I swear I was only a few weeks off the plane when I gave up on "elevator" and started saying "lift." I mean really, it's just so much easier to say "lift" than to say "elevator." Probably the same reason that all the Americans I know in Hong Kong say "flat" instead of "apartment." We might be accused of being lazy when it comes to languages (although is it really being lazy or just efficient?). When I think about how we pronounce "chocolate" and "Wednesday" (the "d" and second "e" are a bit superfluous), I guess they might have a point.
Anyway, lift it is. The other reason why I adopted this word so quickly is because we use it all the time. I mean, lifts are simply everywhere. When I lived in the US, there were very, very few occasions when I would use an elevator. The only one I can remember using in my hometown was the one at the public library. It went from the first floor (ground floor, for you Brits and Hong Kongers and anyone else who prefers) to the second floor, but daddled about so much that I often took the stairs anyway.
In Hong Kong, I feel like you'd be hard-pressed to avoid using a lift for a day. I kind of laugh whenever I see those "healthy tips" about taking the stairs at work to build in more exercise into your day. Well, I would like to see them say that when their workplace is on the 21st floor. To be fair to myself, I have taken the stairs at least four times (once three times in a day)! But that was definitely not because I wanted a healthier life; the single lift in our building was out of order. And I did get my exercise, with much hand-wringing and grousing.
In this skyscraper jungle, we really have come to rely on our lifts, and when they let us down, it can get scary. In one of my previous places of residence, our lift broke down the same week the construction crew had given the stairwells a new paint job. It sure looked nice, but they had also painted over the floor numbers, so we were left to wander up and down, choking on paint fumes and searching for our homes. After four floors, it's really easy to lose count, and since everything looked the same, we had to leave the stairwells and walk down the halls to see if our door was there. Nope, must be on the ninth floor. Too high. Or am I on the tenth? There were about twenty of us, crashing up and down and up and down and up and down. I would have found it more amusing if had I not just gone to the store and loaded up on groceries. Healthy life, though, am I right?
I’ve dubbed one of the lifts in my current building “the creepy lift.” It was out of order a good month when we moved in. Now it’s working, but I noticed that a lot of residents avoid it in favor of the other two lifts. One evening when I was about to get on, the security guard motioned me over to the others. So it got me thinking. Did some kind of accident happen there? Did it send an unsuspecting passenger plunging to their death? Seems best to be avoided.
But still, there are days that I go against my intuition and take it anyway. Like this morning, which was definitely a “skid-through-the-market-run-up-the-escalator-and-dash-up-to-my-bus-as-it-pulled-up” kind of day. My app told me that my bus was three minutes away when I decided to brave the creepy lift. But every time I ride, I start calculating when a sudden drop would result in death or just maiming. 18/F, death for sure. 12th floor, death. 7th floor, should be death. 5th? Not really sure. 3rd floor? Likely maimed. The lift feeds my dark ruminations by helpfully getting shakier and noisier the longer I ride. It’s like an old man slowly, painfully, shakily, lifting a bag of cement and hoisting it onto his shoulder with a groan and much sweat.
There's nothing like a shaky lift to help you appreciate your life.
Anyway, lift it is. The other reason why I adopted this word so quickly is because we use it all the time. I mean, lifts are simply everywhere. When I lived in the US, there were very, very few occasions when I would use an elevator. The only one I can remember using in my hometown was the one at the public library. It went from the first floor (ground floor, for you Brits and Hong Kongers and anyone else who prefers) to the second floor, but daddled about so much that I often took the stairs anyway.
In Hong Kong, I feel like you'd be hard-pressed to avoid using a lift for a day. I kind of laugh whenever I see those "healthy tips" about taking the stairs at work to build in more exercise into your day. Well, I would like to see them say that when their workplace is on the 21st floor. To be fair to myself, I have taken the stairs at least four times (once three times in a day)! But that was definitely not because I wanted a healthier life; the single lift in our building was out of order. And I did get my exercise, with much hand-wringing and grousing.
In this skyscraper jungle, we really have come to rely on our lifts, and when they let us down, it can get scary. In one of my previous places of residence, our lift broke down the same week the construction crew had given the stairwells a new paint job. It sure looked nice, but they had also painted over the floor numbers, so we were left to wander up and down, choking on paint fumes and searching for our homes. After four floors, it's really easy to lose count, and since everything looked the same, we had to leave the stairwells and walk down the halls to see if our door was there. Nope, must be on the ninth floor. Too high. Or am I on the tenth? There were about twenty of us, crashing up and down and up and down and up and down. I would have found it more amusing if had I not just gone to the store and loaded up on groceries. Healthy life, though, am I right?
I’ve dubbed one of the lifts in my current building “the creepy lift.” It was out of order a good month when we moved in. Now it’s working, but I noticed that a lot of residents avoid it in favor of the other two lifts. One evening when I was about to get on, the security guard motioned me over to the others. So it got me thinking. Did some kind of accident happen there? Did it send an unsuspecting passenger plunging to their death? Seems best to be avoided.
But still, there are days that I go against my intuition and take it anyway. Like this morning, which was definitely a “skid-through-the-market-run-up-the-escalator-and-dash-up-to-my-bus-as-it-pulled-up” kind of day. My app told me that my bus was three minutes away when I decided to brave the creepy lift. But every time I ride, I start calculating when a sudden drop would result in death or just maiming. 18/F, death for sure. 12th floor, death. 7th floor, should be death. 5th? Not really sure. 3rd floor? Likely maimed. The lift feeds my dark ruminations by helpfully getting shakier and noisier the longer I ride. It’s like an old man slowly, painfully, shakily, lifting a bag of cement and hoisting it onto his shoulder with a groan and much sweat.
There's nothing like a shaky lift to help you appreciate your life.
I always LOVE your writing! I laughed so hard at this one. So great! "Healthy lifestyle, am I right?" Bahaha!
ReplyDeleteThanks! Glad you enjoyed it. :D
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