The Elevator Button

Posted by Danny

What is it about an elevator button for a kid?  It’s like hitting the winning lottery ticket.

I was at a hotel in New Bern, NC, on Saturday night with the kids.  We parked, grabbed our bags, checked in, and it began.

“I get to press the elevator button!” Stephanie exclaimed.

“No, I want to!” Michelle shouted.

“You guys, it’s a four-story building.  This isn’t a big deal” I explained.

As we approached, I could see the look on DJ’s face.  She was casually in the lead.  Neither of the others would suspect.  I saw it but couldn’t get the words out before her long, 14-year-old arm with outstretched finger pressed it before either of the others knew what had hit them.

“Dad!  DJ pressed the button!!!  I called it first!!!  It’s not fair!!!”  my middle child loudly reasoned.  The youngest just in tears.

“DJ!  Why did you do that?”  I don’t know why I asked.  It wasn’t likely that she could explain the psychological implications of wanting to torture her sisters and act as if she hadn’t heard any of the conversation.


Yes, but it is a very important button.  It’s the elevator button.

We have cell phones, i touches, Wii and television remotes, computers at their disposal.  And yet, the coveted elevator button.

I’ve never seen the thrill.  It’s not like silly putty or that goopy stuff that comes in a can – now those things feel really good to the touch.  I even enjoy a handful of playdough, nice and squishy.  No, the button is hard.  It doesn’t even go in that far to the wall; it’s a slight touch.  Maybe it’s the light…

You’ll be glad to know that I made a mental schedule of who got to press the button for the rest of the stay.  DJ wasn’t concerned about being in the rotation.  If she wasn’t going to annoy her sisters, she could go buttonless.

Next time, we’re staying in a tent.

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