privateelevatorA private elevator

Our small group was recently hosted in an exclusive, more-than-we-could-ever-afford, gated community. While the couple had previously lived in an ocean-front high-rise, they had recently moved into a townhouse a few blocks from the ocean. When I pulled into the driveway, the owner pointed me to a parking spot in front of one of three two-car garages beneath their unit. I wasn’t where the front door was, so I was glad I could follow him around the front and into the entrance.

Through the front doors, we went down a short hallway to an elevator. That’s when I realized this wasn’t like other townhomes I had been in. Once in the elevator, he pushed three, and in less than a minute the opposite door opened, and I stepped out into his living room. That’s right, he had his own private elevator up to his floor, or should I say, his home. Very nice.

At the end of the evening, members of the group climbed back into the elevator to make their way back to their cars. “Make sure you press ‘L’.” Okay. What happens if you press the ‘2’? You end up in someone else’s home, those who occupy the second floor.

Imagine going there for the first time and not paying attention, pressing ‘2’. When the doors opened, you wouldn’t know you were in the wrong home. So you walk in and make yourself at home. You grab a drink from the refrigerator, go over and look at the ocean, and then sit down to relax.

A stranger walks out of a back bedroom and says, “Oh, hi. Can I help you?”

As you introduce yourself, you suddenly realize they don’t know anything about a small group. They don’t know you and you don’t know them. You stumbled onto the wrong floor!

How nice to have your own personal elevator. Until it’s not working and you have to take the stairs. Or until a stranger makes himself at home on your sofa.