THE LIFT GIRL

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 49, 31 May 1940, Page 42

THE LIFT GIRL

ways has a ready, if perfunctory smile. She is always dressed distinctively, either in a page-boy uniform with a jaunty cap, or a smart overall. She has a roving life of a curious character, for though she is constantly on the move, she, herself, is stationary. By this time you may have guessed her identity. She is a lift girl or lift attendant. All day long the lift goes up and down. . . . First Floor-Ladies’ Underwear. . . . Second Floor-Millinery and Costumes. . . Third Floor-Fancywork and Stationary, Books and Toys. . . Fourth Floor-Tea Room and Lay-by. .. So it goes on... "Anybody going up, please?" A press forward, heavy doors clanging into place, and off we go again. Gloved hands feeling mechanically for the switch. . . . A small stool is placed there for her to rest on, but most of the time she is too busy to use it. She is an amazingly efficient machine. She has to be. Time Off For Tea But what about her as a person and not a machine? What life does she lead apart from this monotonous up-and-down business? After riding to the top floor and back -just to see what it felt like-I spoke my piece. "Do lift attendants ever get afternoon tea?" The girl gave me an amused glance. "We count the hours. Twenty-past-three, then ten minutes release. . ." "I wonder if you would have tea with me to-day? I’m one of those snooping newspaper women, and I’d very much like to know something about your job." Her eyes lit up. "I'd like that-but what about having tea with me instead, up in the staff room-we can talk there?" I said there was nothing I would like better than having tea in the staff room, and at half-past-three we were comfortably seated, cups of tea and macaroon biscuits beside us. Escape to the Open She started to talk about her job. "No," I said, "I want to hear something about you yourself first. What do you do when you're away from your work-what kind of things do you like?" My victim had a sense of humour. "We only have ten minutes-but I'll do my best. Well, I like getting air into my lungs-lots of it. I walk to and fro from work-and walk again every night after dinner. Then every Sunday I get out and walk again-or travel somewhere — anywhere to be out in the open." S= is neat and attractive. She al-

I marvelled. "An outdoor girl in an indoor job. . ." "But that is another of the things I like-my job. I also like reading, knitting, going to pictures, particularly plays -I never miss one. I belong to a local Dramatic Club, . . I like that, too. . ." "In America they would call you a Yes girl." "Maybe I am," she laughed, "but it works out well. I live on my owndo my own housekeeping. Saturday is my working bee, washing, ironing and mending-all the things that have accumulated during the week." Not Monotonous Work I glanced at the clock. Five minutes gone. "Perhaps you could tell me something about your work?" "Well, there is so much to it-it- is full of variety and never monotonousas sO many people imagine. It keeps you mentally alive, for you are making different contacts every minute of the day. On the average, I travel up and down ten times in five minutes, carrying, approximately, nine passengers each time. Fridays, of course, are extra busy. We carry about twelve hundred people then to the tea-rooms alone. I’m usually in a sleepy state on Saturday mornings after the previous day’s rush," "T’m quite sure I’d be carried out on a stretcher." She smiled.

The Christmas Rush "You might if you struck our Christmas rush, Last year we carried 24,000 people in three weeks- mainly small children-and lots of prams-all heading for the Toy Department. However, we have breathing space between Christmases.". "How long have you been on this job?" "Three years. I used to be a beauty parlour assistant-but that is past his-tory-and now, this is my job." "Does your lift ever misbehave?" "Only a few times since I have been here. Then, of course, it is my cue to smile and appear as if everything were perfectly normal. That’s not difficult, really, as I have perfect confidence in my lift. It is something like an old friend -always there-always the same. . ." The clock chimed, the quarter hour, and we made our way back to the lift, where the attendant again took charge. Once more the perfect Lift girl, courteous, attentive, at the passengers’ service. Where was the girl who liked knitting, books, plays, reading-and walking to get air into her lungs?