Typical Day
"Yes. I made it," Matt Bernerd says to himself as he punches his timecard at 6:59AM. He woke up at 5:00AM and, as quickly as possible, showered and scarfed down some breakfast—city traffic always clogs up way earlier than one expects.
After finishing a specialized two-year degree in elevator maintenance and repair, then working a year as an apprentice, he finally has a full-fledged job. He just has to make sure he clocks in on time each day.
John Kettle, Matt's new boss, sits across the room finishing a doughnut and some coffee. "I see you managing the commute well. I remember when I first moved to the city I thought the traffic was bad. Now? It's ten times worse. But, you adjust. So it goes." Coming from a disheveled dude in a grease-stained mechanic's shirt, covered in doughnut crumbs, that's some stoic, sage wisdom.
"I guess so," Matt says. "What's the plan for today?"
"The plan is to uplift some people and let others down easily."
"So, the same as yesterday?"
John nods solemnly. "Indeed. The elevator ride, like life itself, is a series of peaks and valleys." Some people are more cerebral in the morning, but that'd be an understatement for John, who seems to have developed a Zen-like outlook during his long career as an elevator technician. He takes his "master" role in the master-apprentice relationship very seriously.
Matt follows John into a work room, where all types of tools, extra parts, and maintenance goods are stored. The rest of the crew is already there. John lays out the plan for the day: oil all moving parts; inspect the mechanics of the public elevator banks; list any mechanical bits that are beginning to look worn.
"If we get through with that in time, we may do some troubleshooting on the electronics. If not, that's where we'll start tomorrow—at which point the cycle will start afresh."
Even though Matt fully understands the inner workings of the equipment, he still feels confused about how to do routine work without shutting an elevator down. In the hospital where he now works, the elevators never seem to stop for more than a few seconds. Oh well—like everyone else just starting a new job, he's figuring it out as he goes along.
John keeps Matt on his crew today and they head down to the lobby at 7:30AM. At the first elevator bank, John punches in a security code and a door behind the elevators opens, revealing a TV screen and some other built-in diagnostics. Matt's mouth falls open—this is state of the art.
A camera rides up and down with the elevator and feeds a picture back to the screen. John shows Matt how to zoom and pan the camera in order to get a perfect view of everything.
"This is really cool," Matt says. "Now I know how you can do inspections without shutting things down."
John nods in agreement. "Yes. I like to call it my extra eye. In time, you'll learn to use it as you would any of your other senses."
Matt likes the idea of becoming intuitively attuned to the workings of the elevator, like a doctor dealing with the particular hum of a human body. John's elevator philosophy is really starting to rub off on him.
"Imagine," John continues, "a first-time mother trying to get up to labor and delivery, while you're standing there about to place a sign saying the elevator is out of service. The life about to burst forth from her womb waits for no technician. Mindfulness of the human life cycle informs our understanding of the elevator repair cycle."
John and Matt make note of a couple parts to order, then hop on and ride the elevator all the way up. In the elevator maintenance room on the roof, they get some tools and a grease gun, then start lubricating the cables.
At 10:00AM, they begin the same process on the second bank of elevators. Given that the hospital has twenty-four floors, it's quite a lengthy process. At around 1:30PM, John and Matt finish lubing the cables on the second bank. They head back to ground level, where they get some food from the hospital cafeteria and grab a table outside on the patio.
While they chat, John makes a note to get Matt a copy of their maintenance manual. It lays out the basic strategies the elevator technicians employ to make sure the hospital lifts pass inspection each year. "So, what do you think so far, Matt?" John asks. "Do you feel as though, like a honey bee pollinating a flower, you're developing a symbiotic relationship with the elevator?"
"Yeah—er, I guess so," Matt replies. "I mean, everyone is nice, and I like how you have the maintenance calendar all figured out for the entire year. But, most of all, the whole camera inspection system just floors me. No pun intended." John nods, satisfied.
At 2:00PM, after lunch is over, John tests Matt by comparing their lists of parts to replace. The lists match exactly—a good sign for Matt's observational skills. Next, they look down in the basement for any parts from the list they might already have. John shows him the system for ordering new parts, an online catalog that shows how many parts are available in real time. It sure comes in handy.
Once all that is finished, they walk back to the elevator to bring them to the ground floor. John puts a hand on Matt's shoulder and looks him squarely in the eye. "If you have any questions, now is a good time to ask. It's 3:45PM; the sun sets on our daily shift before it sets on the day itself."
Matt thinks for a second as they step into the elevator, then asks, "Have you ever been in a really dire situation? Like, the elevator falling or rising uncontrollably? How do you know what to do in a moment like that?"
John nods gravely. "Indeed, sometimes the forces of electricity, mechanics, and gravity conspire against you. The mechanical overrides are in different places for all elevators, but—" he reaches out and puts his palm on the wall of the moving elevator, and instructs Matt to do the same. "If you learn to feel for the hum of the electricity and the textured creeping of the cables, you'll learn also to trust your instincts in such an event. Stay calm, your intuition will tell you what to do."
Like most of John's advice, it doesn't seem to make much practical sense to Matt. But he knows John has seen it all and managed to build a successful career, so he just shrugs and steps out of the elevator when they hit ground level. He's another day closer to his goal of becoming a master elevator technician.
Matt pulls out of the hospital lot at 4:30PM. He's eager to get home, but less eager to sit in rush hour traffic. After a forty-five minute drive he arrives back to his small, one-story home, glad that he never has to take his work home with him.
He cooks himself a small dinner, enjoying the late evening sunlight streaming through his windows. He keeps a little flower in a pot on the windowsill, and it's pointed toward those last rays of light coming in.
Matt thinks of the relationship between the flower and the sun and waxes philosophical about the relationship between his particular skill set and the needs of an elevator. John would be proud. Okay—so maybe he brings his work home with him after all.