The Modern World

Today I went into an office building and was unclear on how to use the elevator.

Let me say that again.  I couldn't figure out how to use the elevator.  Elevators, traditionally, have up buttons and down buttons.  The door opens and you step in, and then you stand there for a while until the doors open again and you step out, hopefully 6-30 stories higher or lower than you started.

But I stepped in, pressed the button for the floor I was going to, and . . . nothing.  The little light just blinked on and then off again, even though another button, already lit before I even got in, was steady and lighted.  Mercifully, my baffled confusion did not last very long, as someone else got in at the same time, saw me, the dippy rube at the control panel, and explained the newfangled elevator technology to me. Turns out there's a computer screen outside the elevator bank on which you press your floor, and it tells you which elevator to go into.

I was torn between marveling at the potential streamlining of NYC elevator commuting (which can truly suck away your life force), agog at the idea of the studies, consulting and resources that went into this project and being annoyed and frustrated at the further fracturing of an agreed upon way to live in our society.

Clearly this is an improvement on standing in a clump of people who are all going to shove into one car that will then stop at 20 different floors.  But I do wonder whether the balance will fall in favor of efficiency, when weighed against the visitors, messengers, delivery people and newcomers who will get in and have no idea what to do.

This is my first post illustrating the ways I will be cranky when I am old.

All the same, I am still grateful for the basics of the elevator and yes, (where on earth are you going with this, you say?) the sewing machine.  Because as many bells and whistles as they can add on to both of them, the ultimate goal is never going to change.  You want to go to the 47th floor without having to climb all those stairs, or join two pieces of fabric.

I love my sewing machine.  Mine, a Bernina 440 QE (bought just in time for it to be discontinued - a happy habit of mine that I suspect is not so much about me as the speed with which things are replaced in modern society) has about 850 functions.  I think I probably use 3 of them regularly.  But I love it.  I think it is beautiful, and I have used it to make things with lots of love put into them.  I have also, over the years, sewed on, among others, a Singer from the 1940s, a Husqvarna Viking from the 90s and a Brother that was mysteriously briefly in my possession.  And you know what?  None of them was all that different from this:

Circa 1853

If you put me in front of pretty much any machine, it might take a few minutes, but eventually I would be able to thread the bobbin, thread the needle and start sewing.  I wonder how many other things invented in 1847 or thereabouts could have the same thing said about them?