Aside: The new Jamiroquai album is my album of the spring. And probably a good chunk of the summer.
Not long after we moved into a new place, I explored the building. The second time I went up a flight of stairs, that time to get all my steps in for the day, I discovered that maintenance didn’t closed a normally locked door all the way.
So I went in.
I wound up on a portion of the roof, but the access door I found didn’t open to much and didn’t lead me to a place with a great view. I also didn’t want to do a lot of exploring because we have real security here and I didn’t feel like explaining how/why I was somewhere I clearly wasn’t supposed to be.
I forgot I took this photo (and two more that give away exactly where I live a bit more, so I’m not posting those). When I came across it a few days ago, it reminded me of a story.
In the 2002-2003 school year, I lived in James River Hall at CNU. If one stands in a certain spot next to the original residence hall at CNU, Santoro, and stare at James River Hall, you get one of last two views of how the campus looked back when I was a student. It makes me sad.
But I digress.
JR is a four-story building, but the elevator goes up to five. Nearly everyone I talked to in the building mentioned how they pressed 5 to discover that nothing happened. It aggravated us. It clearly was a four-story building. Where did 5 go? It had to go somewhere, because why else would it be there?
One day, I was in an English class in Ratcliffe Hall, which once housed the English department. And political science. And facilities for our field sports. It was a weird place.
But, as I was saying, I was in class, and right before it started, my future fraternity brother Dorian ran into the room and yelled, “The 5 in James River works!”
The only thing that could have piqued so many college students’ interest would have been someone announcing that there were kegs somewhere.
Someone asked him what was there. He said he didn’t know because he wanted to tell people first. A group of us decided to go straight there after class.
We packed into the elevator and — yes — the 5 illuminated when pressed and we started heading up.
When we got to the fourth floor, the doors opened, and a woman was confused when none of us made a move to exit.
“Are … you going down?” she asked.
“No,” Dorian replied. “We’re going up.”
She stood there as we didn’t budge and the doors closed.
A few minutes later, we were on the fifth floor. It was just a mechanical area. When we turned around, we couldn’t find a button to recall the elevator. There was a staircase, though.
“Hey!” another woman yelled as we popped out of a seemingly decorative wood panel in the wall across from her open room door.
“Just materializing out of a wall was more exciting that what was up there,” someone said.
And that is why I go down every hallway and try every door that isn’t someone’s apartment in every building I live in.