Or down, or even sideways.
I stand here, in the lobby of the Jaic Hilton, Colombo waiting. Waiting yet again for the elevator. Waiting, like yesterday and the day before, like I shall tomorrow and the day after. Waiting, for the slow-ass elevators to come, waiting for them to go, waiting for movement. Always waiting.
If my room were not on the 23rd floor, if I was not in a suit, and if it wasn’t sweaty hot I would walk the stairs. I need the exercise; I have a triathlon to prepare for. If the pool wasn’t so nice, the room rates so low, and the location so perfect, I would switch hotels.
Maybe there the elevators would be fast, a feat here in Sri Lanka, where after a few days of meetings around town I now know that fast elevators are just a dream in Colombo. A dream at Dialog Telekom, a dream at HNB Bank, a dream wherever I go.
I wait here, for a few minutes every time I press the call button outside, or the floor button inside, because this is Sri Lanka. This is the land of many elevators, every building with more than one floor has one, but none are fast, none are quick, and none are air conditioned.
So I wait. And so does everyone else.