But this was a department store with several stories. There was an elevator in that store and a person inside the elevator that asked you what floor you wanted. Imagine it! She/he also slid the door open and closed. There was a handle on the wall that they would swing to the left or right, making the elevator move up or down.
Amazing! But true. Somewhere in my childhood memories I remember this. I remember hearing my Mother say "childrens clothing" or "women's dresses" or "coats" and then the person who ran the elevator knew which floor to go to. There were no signs, we didn't have to know which floor things were on. We just mentioned an article to buy and that's where we went.
Much later in life I rode an elevator in a bigger city that I worked in. I rode the elevator down to the basement floor where the parking lot was. I rode the elevator down to the bottom to smoke in the dingy dark parking lot where we were allowed to smoke in the building. There were big flowerpot ashtrays standing at the door and I remember how people in their clean suits looked at me while I was standing there blocking their way into the building. They looked at me like I was doing something bad to them. They looked at me like I was a bad person.
Sometimes I would smile or speak to them casually so I wouldn't feel as obvious, but they rarely said more than necessary. Still had that displeased look on their faces. Then I started turning my back so I wouldn't have to see those faces.
You are holding that cigarette in your hand and pushing the button down to the basement with the other hand, antsy, anxious, eager to rush down there and smoke. Those are the feelings that are flooding your head in the here & now. But after the first puff or 2, others come along. You have to know what I'm saying. You have to feel it too. The 2nd class citizen feeling! I hated it! I hated those looks of "I'm above you, I don't have that nasty habit, I'm better than you." I got that from total strangers who didn't know a thing about me. First impression was bad.
I was that little girl who rode the elevator with her Mom in a pressed clean dress, anxious to buy a new coat. I was that teenager with stars in my eyes and hopes and dreams of a great future. And also, I was that addict standing in the doorway of a dark basement, rushing for my quota of nicotine.
I can't tell you how much I equal not smoking with freedom. Not smoking = freedom. I smile a lot more now. I don't have those mixed up feelings inside of me struggling against each other. I don't have those inner battles raging. I don't fight myself.
I wish I could give you the strength and the hope and the surety of knowing you can do this! I wish I could give you the strength to hang on. There's nothing but good coming your way.
