The light comes on just as the dinging sound hits. Even though I know it’s coming, I still get excited, just like when they call your name at the Cracker Barrel. I step onto the elevator and listen to the smooth whoosh of the doors closing. I’m alone, but I expected to be since I got on Floor 22; it’s only a 23-story building. I push the 1 button. 

Almost immediately, the car slows at Floor 20. An old lady gets on with her dog. The dog is small and white and, oddly, looks as old as its owner. It’s the most excited of the three of us, but it’s probably the only one who gets to go to the bathroom when this trip is over. Somewhere in my head, “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” starts playing, and I don’t even like that song. 

We slow again on 17, and some dude who looks like he might be ready to jog gets on. It crosses my mind that if he’s that focused on exercise, he could just take the stairs down to 1, but he’s bigger than me, so I stay quiet. I’ve learned that guys bigger than me don’t like my advice. 

He leans over and pushes 1. This seems really important because 1 is already lit; it’s the only lit button on the panel. But he’s gotta push it too, I guess just to prove he has purpose. Until he pushes it, I assumed he just gets on elevators as a hobby with no actual destination.

I start to roll my eyes at the old lady, then remember she pushed the lit 1 button too.

Finally, we’re rolling again. The dog was looking at me, but now it’s looking at Jogger. I would’ve expected more loyalty since we’ve been together three whole floors. 

At Floor 14, we stop again. I’ve always loved the concept of Floor 14 because it’s really Floor 13, but the building calls it Floor 14 because some people won’t live on 13 because of bad luck. They will, however, live on a floor number based on delusion.

Anyway, here we are on Delusion, and a guy gets on with his rolling luggage. It’s a huge bag, and for some reason, he seems intent on moving to the back of the elevator, but that’s where the old guard is. Me, the old lady, her dog, and Jogger have been here through thick and thin, through the heady days of 16 & 15. All of us stare straight ahead, and he and his Samsonite have nowhere to go. His shoulders slump a bit as the door starts to close—

—but it suddenly reopens. It’s a family. A goddamn family. A mom, a teenager, two littler kids. All of them pile in. Eight people, half a dog, and a suitcase the size of a wild boar.

We finally get rolling again. The littler kids aren’t aware that elevators are for quiet time and are fighting about what rides to ride today. I dream back to having the entire car to myself. It was mine. I was in control of my destination, and then all of these people wrestled it away, and I’m in a corner hoping it’ll all end soon.

At 10, we slow again. There’s an audible moan. At first I think it’s the luggage guy, but then I realize it’s me. The door opens, and a Ed Asner-looking guy is standing there. He surveys the crowd and, for a moment, I think he’s going to make the “I’ll wait for the next one” wave. But not this guy. He’s going to push his way on. I see little balls of sweat on his balding head as he lumbers into the mix. He leans over… and pushes 3.

This son of a bitch.

In a perfect world, elevators would take care of the original destinations first. Natural order. But elevators are vaguely capitalist and some bastard can get on late and leave early, never mind the rest of us.

The door starts to close, then it doesn’t. It reopens.

Who now?

“Noah, don’t do that,” says the mom, and I see one of hers has hit the button that reopens the door.

I’m 26 and finally I know what pure hatred feels like.

“People are trying to get where they need to go,” she says in a sing-song voice clearly designed to show us all what a good parent she is, but, lady, that possibility went away when you lost track of him in the first place.

The dog is frantically trying to get his old lady to pick him up, eyeing the Samsonite like it’s a predator. The lady isn’t helping it, though. We’re clearly at the every-man-for-himself stage.

We rumble onto 3. The door flies open, and a woman on her phone runs directly into the interloper trying to get off the elevator. I hope there’s a special place in Hell for people who don’t wait for people to get off elevators before they get on. It’s the perfect analogy for America in 2026. I look down to see if the dog’s baring its teeth at her, but all it can see are ankles and that suitcase that might be rolling toward him.

For some reason, I start wondering what our society would look like if Armageddon left us as the only people on Earth. I see Jogger and me running things, although the mom would be drawn to him over me, what with the fitness and all. Fine, he can put up with her parenting skills.

We’d probably eat the dog Day 3. 

The teenage girl shakes her phone.

“There’s no reception in here,” she says. Then shakes it again. Again. My future post-apocalyptic bride, shaking her phone for reception. 

“Relax,” says her younger sister, swaying in place to the music in her head.

I close my eyes, trying to hear the music she hears. It’s gotta be better than ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’, I know that.

Two floors to go.