It was like stepping into a time machine.
A real freight elevator with a real gate with a real handle that made it go up and down and fast and slow and stop and start.
The guy grabbed the handle and up we flew.
I used to drive one of these, I said to the Mariner.
Well not drive, drive. In 1975, it wasn't like girls were freight elevator operators. But, fresh out of high school, every chance I got, working in the back channels of an old, respected office supplies store, I begged the freight elevator guy, a big burly guy at least 100 years old or his pimply 15 year old second hand to let me zoom the freight up and down. It was the closest I got to driving a race car.
How did you get it to stop right on the floor, the Mariner asked.
Oh it was just like parallel parking. Only vertical.
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