We are in Professor Faggioli’s office.
Banani’s session continues.
Faggioli (in an inspired tone, hands clasped behind his back, eyes distant):
Banani. Have you ever stopped to really observe elevator button panels?
Not just look at them. I mean really observe.
Listen to them.
Because every button panel has its own character.
A personality. A mechanical soul.
I… I’ve been observing them for years.
In shopping malls, hospitals, parking garages.
Sometimes I don’t even get in; I just approach,
study the layout of the buttons,
the fingerprints left behind,
the spacing between each one.
Some button panels speak elegantly.
Others shout, shove, shine too much.
Some want to be modern, with glass and touch screens.
But I prefer the old ones,
with buttons that click,
that resist just beneath your finger,
that seem to say:
“If you want to go up, prove you’re worthy.”
Once, I found a button panel
with the fourth floor button pressed so many times
that it lost its letter.
It had become just a smooth circle,
like a nameless mystery.
And you know what, Banani?
I stood there for twenty minutes.
Not to go up.
Just to contemplate.
Button panels…
are confessionals for vertical travelers.
Maps of desires.
Small temples at thumb’s reach.
(Faggioli pauses. Then he sits down, very serious, and in a whisper:)
Yes, Banani.
I am a button panel observer.
Flashback – Basement of an office building, night time.
The space is bare, lit by flickering neon lights. The only sound is the hum of the lighting and, down the corridor, an elevator with closed doors.
In front of the button panel, Professor Faggioli stands still.
Eyes fixed on the panel.
Glass-like gaze, unkempt beard, dust-stained pants.
No bag, no watch. Just him and the elevator buttons.
The building owner arrives, an elderly man in a wrinkled coat, accompanied by two paramedics.
Owner (astonished):
There he is. Still there. Hasn’t moved an inch.
He must have been here for days.
The paramedics cautiously approach.
Paramedic 1 (looking closely at Faggioli):
Regular pulse, but his gaze is completely vacant.
Catatonic. His eyes only follow the buttons…
Owner (sighing):
I thought he was an installer on break.
Then I noticed he wasn’t eating. Nor drinking. Just… staring.🤣
The paramedics gently place Faggioli on a stretcher. He offers no resistance. His arms remain still at his sides.
Paramedic 2 (while loading him into the ambulance):
It’s like he saw something… something too much.
Faggioli (barely audible, murmuring):
…the button with no floor…
…what happens if I press it…🤣
The elevator doors close. The ambulance drives away.
Igor:
Have I ever stopped to observe elevator button panels? No! Never. In fact, when I get in an elevator I close my eyes and feel for the button by touch! 🤣
…As for Faggioli and his elevator romanticism… no words! It explains itself.🤣
…Again here, Faggioli isn’t the only one living outside reality. When the owner says Faggioli “wasn’t eating or drinking,” that just confirms it! 🤣
…Excuse me, Mr. Owner. But what was he supposed to do? Eat and drink in the elevator? 🤣
…Maybe he could have brought in a table, a chair, and a menu! 🤣
…No, friends! We underestimated this owner. Turns out he’s a real entrepreneur! He wanted to open a restaurant in the elevator! 🤣
…Who would’ve thought? A genius! 🤣