At what point does an elevator become expendable? My buzzer’s never worked and my prewar building proudly showcases an elevator that acts like it was born in 1939 and looks like it got the Joan Rivers (bless) special in the 70s. My desire to avoid climbing four flights of stairs is second only to my unwillingness to wait. I send laundry out and order everything else in. I have the patience of a fruit fly. If I’m lugging my own body weight up to the fifth floor anyway, it’s totally possible I’d survive the delivery order-guilt/requisite exertion of a walk-up. I’m just throwing it out there as a possibility. It’s like manifesting something you don’t really want but are willing to consider for a dishwasher or actual outdoor space unrelated to escaping fire.
julie warshaw 